


Nobody Move

by Gemenied



Category: Waking the Dead (TV)
Genre: Costume Parties & Masquerades, Drama, F/M, Humor, Romance, Undercover, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-04
Updated: 2013-04-03
Packaged: 2017-11-23 16:19:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 33,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/624134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gemenied/pseuds/Gemenied
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grace and Boyd attend a lavish party at the Commissioner's behest. Undercover. It can only go downhill from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own anything that you recognise from the show. I make no money from it and I only write to amuse myself and my readers.
> 
> A/N: The basic idea was given to me by Gracebe - only, it might not end up being what she had in mind, because I got Boney M in my head (Be worried!!!!). Extra thanks go to Shadowsamurai for the beta. I'd also like to note that ever though a few things might look - originally - as being similar to CatS81's brilliant story "Underneath Your Clothes," I'm going off on a completely different tangent here.  
> Shadow also said to place a warning, so I warn about choking, no eating and drinking and everything else.
> 
> Other than that - just read and enjoy.

Part I

"Remind me again, why am I doing this?" Grace Foley ground out petulantly as she fiddled with the object in her hands. She felt uncomfortable enough as it was with the swath of clothes surrounding her body. As much as she liked to dress up every now and then, it was highly uncomfortable squeezing yourself and several extra yards of material first inside a coat and then into a car seat. Especially in a car that was so small and so sporty that no normal person could sit comfortably in it. Besides, she still had a lump in her stomach thinking about how much her new dress had cost.

"Because our dear ACC thinks you have such a scintillating personality that you can easily outshine my grouchy disposition and become the life of the party where you and I are supposed to investigate undercover." The man at the wheel made no real attempt to placate her. In fact, he enjoyed her discomfort too much to interrupt her complaints. And, though he didn't say it out loud, he was looking forward to see what the bulky coat of his companion hid.

She knew he was riling her up and under different circumstances she would have called him on it, but his behaviour gave her an excuse to grumble on and she intended to make the most of it. "I'm sure there was a compliment hidden in there, but it would take too much effort to search for it." Shaking her head, she heaved a theatrical sigh and stared out of the window into the evening traffic. At least it wasn't raining and thus, the new dress would not be ruined immediately.

"I'm practicing for those artsy-fartsy types we'll have to stomach tonight. You know, throw around empty and fake compliments." Focussing on the traffic, he saw neither the short grimace crossing Grace's face nor the unconscious brush of her hands over her clothes. "And those exalted voices and air kisses and such. It's going to be a nightmare."

"Boyd!" Grace interrupted him with raised eyebrows. "It's my turn to complain."

His laughter resounded in the confined space of their rental car and he made an allowing gesture. "Wouldn't dream of stopping you, Grace."

* * *

 

Grace had some difficulty getting out of the low seats of the sporty Mercedes and shook her head at the design. She was still in a grumbling mood, and the idea of her and Boyd having to act like a couple of obscure, but wealthy publishers didn't appeal to her at all. His descriptions of what the other guests of this party would be like weren't too far off her own worst fears. She was trying to keep an open mind about it, but it wasn't easy.

Boyd's solid presence steadied her as she overbalanced on her high heels, his hands gently grasping her upper arms as she swayed. "Easy," he whispered strangely gently. The moment lingered as Grace didn't pull back right away. He smelled good, that special cologne, she realized.

"Mr. Parker!" A man in brightly coloured clothes was marching in their direction. "And Mrs. Parker too," he exclaimed in delight.

Both Grace and Boyd barely held in a groan.

"I'm so pleased you could make it to my little party here," the man continued with a bright smile. "I'm always happy to make new acquaintances and we have so many things in common, we just had to meet at some point. I'm Miles Rockton, but please, you must call me Miles!"

For all purposes, the man looked as if he might clap his hands in glee, almost making the couple laugh.

"It's our pleasure to have been invited, Sir Miles," Grace ventured forth, extending her hand which the man took with almost childlike softness.

"And we are impressed. Throwing such lavish parties in such posh places might be considered a bit of an extravaganza these days," Boyd continued. "Boyd Parker, by the way. And this is...."

Sir Miles chuckled. "I know, I know. Your breathtaking wife. And how can she not be?" The man beamed. "Marrying her before anybody else could do it might have been one of your smartest decisions ever. Business and otherwise." The last words were muttered under a conspiring breath as Rockton leaned close over their clasped hands.

He then turned and all but pulled the couple towards the entrance of the elegant house, before Boyd or Grace could contradict his incorrect assumption about their relationship. With Grace's hand tucked in the crook of Rockton's arm, she had little chance of saying or doing anything, so she just tried to go along as it went, giving Boyd a grimace over her shoulder as he followed.

"It might look a little lavish when everybody is talking about a crisis, Boyd. I may call you Boyd, may I? We are all just friends here after all," Rockton continued in a cheery voice that the policeman knew would get down on his last nerve quickly. "But you'll find that I simply love to enjoy myself. And you need to give yourself enjoyable things so you don't forget how to do it."

"That sounds like the right approach to life," Grace agreed with a smile as they entered the house.

As she turned to give Boyd a gentle warning to behave, he shook his head and mouthed, "Mental!"

* * *

 

Upon entering the brightly lit building they had been requested to put on their masks, which in hindsight might have been the saving grace of the evening in Boyd's eyes. Hidden by these ridiculous masks, nobody could see his constant frown.

Sometimes he wondered what else would come his way in the course of the job. Going undercover to scout out possible industrial espionage or worse, the ACC hadn't been too specific on the matter, was one thing, but having to do it at some masked ball, where people spoke in high-pitched voices and called each other 'darling' to their faces and 'bitch' to their behinds, was more than pushing it. He wasn't some hoity-toity good weather and clean suits copper. He was working on the real things, the real crimes.

At a party of the upper crust, Boyd did not only feel horribly out of place, he was also sure that at during the time he wasted here, he could have accomplished much more by pushing papers around on his desk.

But since this was a command performance....

At least everybody was dressed in either black or white as the invitation had required, letting people blur into each other. Only the host stood out, in his lavish silver-pink outfit.

Why he and Grace had been ordered to show up and investigate, Boyd couldn't fathom. Neither Rockton nor his company, or any of the people they had encountered so far, was connected to any case they had investigated in the past. Nobody was connected to their current cases either. The ACC had just ordered them to go, mentioning that the order came from the office of the Commissioner.

No further questions had been allowed.

So, Boyd found himself in the middle of an extravagantly decorated and furnished room, sipping expensive champagne, which was a small but gratefully accepted favour, looking out for Grace.

While he felt like a fish out of water, she seemed to enjoy herself maximally. Her laughter, which he would recognise among thousands of people, rang out in the room, making him turn in that direction. Nobody laughed like Grace.

Irrational feelings surged up in him as he saw her leaning close to some indistinguishable man in a tuxedo. The mask notwithstanding, Boyd could see the man's eyes focussed on her cleavage, not her face as she spoke.

Granted, that was some spectacular cleavage she showed, the entire dress leaving little to the imagination, and he knew he was staring too, had been doing so all night.

Even now, he couldn't stop himself and crossed the room to stand beside her, his hands settling possessively on her waist. Grace started a little, but quickly recovered and leaned slightly back against him.

Boyd could feel her sway a little, the champagne probably being a bit stronger than she had anticipated, but on a private level it made him smile to be sort of her protector, and on a strictly professional level....

"What's so funny?" he asked quietly.

Grace shot around a little at the question, vertigo setting in for a moment. She should really ease up on the champagne. They were here on the job, and though they were rarely sent on such posh assignments, they were still expected to bring back results. It wouldn't do for her to be drunk and possibly blow their cover of a respectable - married - couple of publishers.

"Evan, here," she enunciated the words with the same gleeful enthusiasm the other guests did and Boyd momentarily squeezed her waist to bring her back to focus, "was just telling me about this party in Nice last month. It seems we missed the party of the year there." She sighed theatrically. "Such a shame we missed it."

"Oh yeees. It was an incredible thing. The champagne in the pool and the candles swimming in it. Marvellous."

Even with the masks in place, the androgyny of "Evan" was obvious in the way he talked and was dressed. Boyd swallowed a scathing comment, but before he could say anything the other man had turned away to enthusiastically embrace and kiss another man.

Seemingly alone in the masses of people, Grace let out a sigh and turned in Boyd's arms. She expected him to loosen his touch, let her go, but he kept his hands firmly on her waist, before slipping them further around her body. Somebody stumbled into her from behind, pushing her further into the embrace, and suddenly Grace found herself flush against Boyd's front.

"Boyd?" she asked uncertainly, her eyes wide and questioning. He could see it, despite the mask, and leaned further down.

"Do I need to be worried about you, Grace?"

His breath brushed over her cheek, making her shiver. Not the best thing when the dress was tight and the material smooth and thin, she decided. Boyd would have to be completely physically insensible to miss her reaction. "What do you mean?" Her question came out on a breath.

"Have you kept a truly posh High Society-lady hidden from me all those years?"

Grace stared at him for a moment, a frown marring her features. But then she threw her head back and laughed. Boyd couldn't help it and chuckled along. She simply had the most infectious laugh.

The action brought her body into closer contact with his, if that was even possible, startling him and making him very aware of her curves pressed against him. Lost in the momentary indulgence, he missed her leaning closer until her breath fluttered against his skin, the warmth of her lips close to his ears. "No. Star of the university drama group."

Before Boyd could reply, Grace had pushed away from him and moved back into the crowd.

Standing in the middle of the room while around him mayhem reigned, Boyd heaved a sigh and rolled his eyes. For a few moments he had almost forgotten where they were, oblivious to the noise, to all but her, if he was honest. She was already engaged in another lively conversation, charming the wits out of a few other guys. From the looks of it, it wouldn't take much to achieve it, but Boyd didn't like it. Searching for a waiter, he signalled for another glass.

* * *

 

"That was a complete waste of time!" Boyd complained loudly as they were once again settled in the car and on the way back to London. It was after two in the morning and the M4 was fairly empty, giving him the chance to pull as much as possible out of the rented Mercedes.

"Hmm, the champagne was good. And some of the food too." In the passenger's seat, Grace tried to bury herself in her coat as much as possible. Despite her reluctance to go, she'd had a surprisingly good time, maybe because she made sure to ignore the airheadedness of some of the guests. And it had been fun for her to employ some of her old skills. Now, however, she was tired and cold and desperately hoping for a lie in come morning.

"Not good enough. It was a complete waste. We've got no tangible information out of anybody. Or," he turned and gave her a teasing smile, "did you charm a confession out of somebody?"

She snorted indelicately in reply. "I know it's your turn to complain, Boyd, but there's no need to insult me when I'm half-asleep."

Chuckling in reply, he shook his head at her before turning his attention back to the road. "You are slipping, Grace," he teased. "You let me bitch around just like that?"

"What would you say if I admitted that your bitching provides the background noise to my deep thoughts about the information we have gathered tonight?"

"Ouch."

Grace laughed in reply. "You did ask."

"You can really wound a man, Dr. Foley."

"You can take it. You even took the party in stride and so far with a fairly low amount of complaint. I am impressed. Trying out a new you?"

"No, I figured I'll find out more easily why the AAC insisted we go to this party if I play along."

"And?"

Boyd snorted and pushed more strongly against the accelerator. "It was a waste of time. While there might have been the odd thing that could bear investigating, nothing poses an elementary threat to the law. Obnoxiousness is, unfortunately, not a crime yet."

Grace pressed further into her seat at the increased speed of the car, but suppressed her smile. "There were a few interesting characters. Evan, for example."

"Evan?!" Boyd's incredulous voice resounded in the confined space, making his companion wince at the volume. "Seriously, what does anybody find attractive in dressing and behaving like that?"

"Not man enough for you?"

"Oh please... What could be interesting about that guy?"

"Oh not much, I guess. Only that I overheard at least three people speaking about the sum he'll be offered for his new book. Apparently, the title will be a hot seller and competition for printing rights is high. And expensive." She chuckled and pushed herself up a little further.

"It would probably drive me to tears."

"It would make the team as a whole cry."

"Thought so. Anybody else whom you charmed for information?" Despite the gruff tone, Grace could see that his words weren't an accusation, but rather an attempt to keep the back and forth going. It surprised her a little, they hadn't been so relaxed with each other for a while. Teasing and nagging each other in a friendly way seemed to have gone to the wayside after Mel. And after Felix and after...so many things.

"There was this couple, she is something in advertising, he's a barrister. Now, be glad you didn't run into them." She snorted and shook her head. "They'd qualify as obnoxious. Both connected to Rockton, I'm just not sure how exactly. They glossed that over while telling me how brilliant they are."

"See, I knew you'd see my point."

"There was hardly a chance for me not to see it. If I didn't know better, I would have called the entire party an act for our benefit. But...." Grace shrugged again and heaved a theatrical sigh. It seemed, after all, to be the theme of the evening.

"But?" Boyd prodded gently and lightly placed his hand on her thigh. Both registered the touch as soon as it happened, shivers sparking from it.

Grace looked at the hand on her thigh, then at the man next to her. "But?....Do you really think anybody high up in the Met has that much sense of humour?"


	2. Chapter 2

"Ah, the belle of the ball," Eve Lockhart announced as Grace Foley walked into the bullpen of the Cold Case Unit's offices. To make matters worse, she raised her mug of coffee in salute while the other members of the team snickered to themselves. It was a good thing Boyd had the door to his office closed, otherwise the levity would have been nipped in the bud.

"Not. Funny. Eve." Grace articulated every word carefully, her features drawn into a frown. Normally she didn't mind a bit of teasing from the younger team members, not even on her account, but after days of constant badgering the joke was getting old.

They had all had a good laugh about it on Monday during lunch when Grace vividly explained the exalted characters of the other guests, with Boyd throwing in the occasional derisive comment. It was a nice change of pace and they all had enjoyed the hilarity. And even though Grace had scoffed dismissively at Boyd's compliments, the DSI had made it very clear that most of the information had been due to Grace charming the pants off those 'artsy-fartsy types' as he had called them.

The younger team members didn't miss his sincerity, something Grace seemed to be oblivious to.

Boyd's line of "belle of the ball" had stuck and the team, eager for any kind of teasing material, used it to full measure.

By Wednesday it had become somewhat tedious. Now it was Thursday and Grace was ready for it to end. It was just what she needed after her encounter with the ACC. Her joking words from Saturday night were coming back to her, though she couldn't really see any hilarity in the development.

"Where's your sense of fun, Grace?" Eve shook her head.

"It's diminishing with the same speed as somebody's warped sense of it is growing," the profiler replied sharply and marched into her office. It looked as if she'd actually slam the door from the force she exerted to open it, which made the rest of the team raise their eyebrows and Boyd look up from his files.

He gave a questioning look to which Spencer shrugged.

Grace dropped her purse onto her desk and rummaged through it before pulling out a few papers. Reading them again, she debated on how to proceed, before coming to a decision and walking over into Boyd's office. There she sat down on the sofa with an annoyed sigh.

"The kids teasing you too much?"

Grace remained silent.

"Grace?"

She levelled her gaze at him, her annoyance fairly radiating off of her.

"What?" Boyd's patience began to wear thin, making him sound harsh. Grace flinched slightly before pulling herself together.

"Remember me saying that the Met has no sense of humour?"

"Yes?" He drew the word out, dread beginning to spread.

She shook her head, leaned back and closed her eyes.

The desk chair was pushed back noisily as Boyd rounded the desk and stood before the profiler. He towered over her, his stance intimidating though he figured that it didn't work on her at all. If he went too far, she'd tell him directly. "Stop stalling, Dr. Foley. What is the matter?" he ground out impatiently.

Instead of an answer, Grace held up the papers in her hand. "Read."

* * *

 

Outside, Stella and Spencer exchanged confused glances with Eve. It was rare for Grace to be in a mood; usually she was the one mediating between Boyd and the rest of the world. For her to be so irritable didn't bode well for the immediate future.

From their vantage point, they could see Boyd's rapidly darkening expression as he read the note in his hand and their confused glances quickly turned to worried frowns.

"This doesn't look good," Spencer gloomily stated the obvious.

* * *

 

"This is a joke, is it?" Boyd stared at the note in his hand. Despite having read the words several times, he couldn't make sense of it. If anybody thought he'd do that, they needed their heads checked.

In reply, Grace shook her head. "No. The ACC was very clear about it when he handed it to me."

"Not even the bloody ACC can expect us to do that when we do have real cases to work on!"

"That's what I said. The ACC was quick to remind me that on one hand, we do not have an actual case, and second.... Don't you just love it when everybody knows better what you need to do?" She shook her head. "Second, he informed me that the Commissioner already okay-ed the 'mission.' His words, not mine."

"I'm not James bloody Bond!"

In spite of herself, Grace found her eyes flickering over his frame speculatively. The innuendo was a given and she could have slapped herself for giving Boyd such an opening. When her eyes finally connected with his, she flushed brightly, seeing him smirk. "Why, thank you, Grace."

"Oh, bugger off!"

Boyd chuckled at her reddening cheeks, but couldn't help to follow the flush's spread down her neck. For an insane moment he wondered how her skin would look with whisker burn.

"Not funny!" she repeated.

He sobered instantly. "No, it isn't. And there is no way we are doing this. That party was a one-off, because there was no immediate need to find evidence and because it was deemed completely safe. A whole weekend in the middle of nowhere is going beyond what you should be allowed to do, miles beyond what they pay me for, for that matter."

"Good point." Though she smiled and agreed, they both knew that Grace was merely being sarcastic.

"So, we just go and tell our dear ACC that and he can go up and tell Hutchison. We aren't trained for this kind of job and the Met has units which are. It's a waste of tax money to send us."

"Unfortunately." Grace got up from the couch, the earlier sarcasm in her voice increasing tenfold. She closed the distance and suddenly stood next to Boyd, pointing towards the writing on the paper in his hand. "Trust me, I mentioned this to the ACC. But..."

"Yes?"

"As he was very quick to point out to me, the invitation is addressed to Mr. Boyd Parker and wife. And our esteemed ACC was quick to remind me that Sir Miles is convinced that Mr. Boyd Parker and wife refers to the both of us. He even complimented me on my acting skills."

"Tosser!" Marching over to the couch, the DSI let himself fall onto it. Rubbing his hands over his face, he shook his head. "I'm starting to wonder how low actual police work is ranking these days," he moaned. "They want us to go on some hair-brained weekend, because some airhead of a millionaire took a shine to us as a married couple, investigating what?"

"The ACC still mentioned economic espionage, possible sales of trade secrets. They are also concerned about unlicensed arms trade."

"In that environment? Are they out of their minds?" Boyd said and stared at her disbelievingly. "The only possible crime I can imagine there is drugs. If we went in with a few people from the drug squads, we'd find tons of that stuff."

"Did you see any?"

"Oh, come on, Grace, the way they were all talking and acting...."

"That is speculation based on prejudicial assumptions and it is not based on fact whatsoever."

Boyd stared at her before rolling his eyes in response. "Meaning I have come to a verdict without proof."

"That's what I said."

He threw his hands in the air, got up from the couch and started pacing. She stood a little in his way and made no attempt to move, so he had to pace around her. It didn't improve his mood.

"Give me one reason, Grace, why we should even consider doing this weekend?"

"We have no choice? The Commissioner made it an order? It's not my favourite reason, but it's the most compelling. We are simply ordered to go."

Boyd grunted in reply.

"Look," the profiler sighed, "we won't get out of it. All we can do is see the positive aspects of it."

"Like what?" Boyd groused.

"It's a luxurious estate in the Cotswolds, which are supposed to be lovely at this time of the year. It's a weekend of good food and even better wine." The corners of Boyd's mouth twitched, making her grin crookedly. "You asked for the positive aspects."

"So I did," he replied with a full grin that produced a heated knot in the pit of her stomach. Thank God Boyd smiled so rarely.

"And....apart from my almost irresistible company, it's the 'twist' that sells it to you."

* * *

 

He shrugged and let his grin taper off into a mysterious smirk.

Though they tried to look busy, it didn't entirely work out. It was their luck, though, that neither Boyd nor Grace had much of a mind to call them up on their slacking. With the expressions on their faces, the team found it feasible to keep quiet until they'd be informed.

Grace looked very uncomfortable as she sat down next to Stella's desk. A mug of tea was placed next to her, which she took without acknowledging the gesture. Eve, who had given her the drink, made eye contact first with Spencer, then with Stella. They both shrugged and focused on Boyd, who was pacing in front of the board.

"Alright," he announced. "We've got...." There he stopped, looking at Grace for help.

"Not a case," she supplied helpfully and sipped from her tea.

"Not a case then." Boyd shook his head, his expression turning darker by the second. "Earlier today, our esteemed ACC handed an invitation to Grace, saying that a refusal of said invitation is not an option."

"Belle of the ball?" Stella chortled, but was silenced immediately by glares from two sides. "What kind of invitation?" she asked apologetically.

"Grace? Would you be so kind?" The DSI sounded sarcastic as he motioned for his colleague.

"Well," the profiler began, "Sir Miles Rockton, _THE_ Sir Miles Rockton of "On The Rocks"-books cordially invites Mr. Boyd Parker and his exceedingly lovely wife to a luxurious weekend 'with a twist' at his country estate situated in the breathtaking nature of the Cotswolds." Half reading, half reciting the words from memory, Grace's voice was fairly dripping with sarcasm.

"A luxurious weekend with a twist?"

"Mr. Parker and wife?"

Incredulous questions popped up everywhere as the younger team members tried to retain some sort of professionalism. They were only half-successful with snickers interspersing their words.

"Sir Miles also stated," Grace held up the additional card, "that he is particularly looking forward to be seeing Mr. Parker and his delightful wife again. That he won't take no for an answer and that we shall remember to bring black tie wardrobe as well as attire suitable for hikes in the lovely countryside."

"What is this all about?" Eve frowned in confusion. "I mean, I do understand that you had to attend that party, which brought in some information that looks fairly useless to us but was important to somebody. I also get this guy taking a shine to you two, but....What is the problem?"

"You mean, apart from us having to get through an entire weekend with a bunch of pompous arseholes, who'll get on my last nerve?"

"Yeah. Sounds like a great weekend away," Stella piped up.

"Except that they have to pretend being married," Spence threw in, his smirk now firmly established.

"And Boyd," Eve who could usually get away with more, interrupted, "has to play the jealous husband, because Sir Miles has taken a shine to Grace."

The younger team member snickered to themselves, thereby missing the intense, but silent exchange between the couple in question. An entire weekend of being away together, being in a room together, sleeping in the same bed....

For a moment Boyd let his mind drift, mulling over the question whether there were more outfits like that black number from the party. The memory of it was already causing havoc in his mind, this morning's fantasy probably not the last. The shimmering black satin encasing fragrant skin flashed before his inner eye and he had to shake himself back into reality.

Reality meant raised eyebrows over questioning blue eyes and he fought down a blush. Men his age didn't blush. _He_ didn't blush.

Grace grinned slightly, letting him know that she had caught him, but Boyd noted with some satisfaction that the colour in her cheeks was also a bit more intense than usual. Before he could say or do anything about it, however, she turned towards the younger team members.

"While I am glad we could provide this much entertainment for you, can we please get back to the problem at hand?"

Despite her sweet voice, both officers and the scientist sobered instantly. Grace had not made a request.

"What actually is the problem?" Eve asked once she had pulled herself together. "You could just refuse. Claim you are away on business or something."

Boyd shook his head. "The Commissioner already sent his regards. The invitation was accepted on our behalf. We have to go."

"How do they explain the need for such a job? What kind of case is connected to it?"

"According to the ACC, everything and everybody that is something and somebody, Spence," Grace explained. "There are worries about business espionage or the sale of military secrets. And....it is _SIR_ Miles Rockton, _THE_ Sir Miles Rockton, who _insists_ on seeing us at his little party."

"The ACC really likes to emphasise."

Looking at Stella, the team took a breath, only to release it in derisive chuckles.

"So, no matter how useless the job is, no matter how much of a waste of time and money it is, you simply have to do it," Spencer summed up.

"Yes, and we'll need all information we can gather about the host, his estate, all personnel and all possible guests," Boyd announced. "So get busy, people! You have time until tomorrow noon. Grace and I need to information when we leave."

"For a luxurious weekend with a twist, Mr. Parker."

"I'm looking forward to it, Mrs. Parker."


	3. Chapter 3

Grace was of two minds about the upcoming weekend. Her wayward emotions and her even more uncontrollable body were betraying her, making this weekend a lot more than it should be.

So, she would spend it pretending to be married to a colleague. So, to keep up appearances they'd have to share a room, possibly share a bed. And, to convince people, they'd have to touch and behave like they were happily married.

It was part of the job, right?

It didn't really matter that the colleague to whom she was pretending to be married to was a very handsome man to which she was unfortunately very attracted and who could, if he wanted to, make her feel and act very much like a teenager.

Her own feelings and wishes had nothing to do with the job at hand and it would be a smart move to forget about her fantasies, which unfortunately had increased since the party, images of that same man in a tuxedo not altogether helpful to push away her attraction to him.

As she was closing her suitcase, Grace contemplated that it might not have been her most intelligent act to go out and splurge her money on more evening gowns. Despite the fact that the invitation required such a wardrobe, she needn't have bought this kind of dress. It might not be an appropriate style for a woman her age, too tight and too revealing, but it had felt good to wear it, she had felt great when she saw herself in the mirror and.... There was this little devil on her shoulder that encouraged her to wear it simply for the reactions.

His reaction, mostly.

Her behaviour and thoughts were not altogether professional and she could only hope it wouldn't come back to haunt her.

They had closed shop early today and she awaited Boyd any minute to pick her up and drive into the countryside. Sir Miles' proposed "luxurious weekend with a twist" didn't sound half bad, she had said it before, but Grace wondered what the twist might be.

Sir Miles' interest in her person and in them as a couple had been a little disconcerting, but that could all be projection from her side. Boyd's constant complaints about their target's idiosyncrasies were beginning to cloud her professional judgement. Shaking her head, Grace attempted to focus her thoughts away from too close a connection to Boyd, and instead moved in front of the mirror to take a last look at her appearance.

She could only hope that she'd pass as a publisher of understated but considerable success.

As the door bell rang, loud and impatient, Grace sighed loudly, steeling herself for her twisted weekend with a grumpy fake husband.

* * *

 

"Boyd, just stop it for a minute!" Grace groaned as they passed the last junction for Reading. They had been on the road for a little over an hour and all her companion had done was complain. He was never the most agreeable of people, especially when things didn't go his way, but sometimes even her patience was tried.

"I just don't see what we can possibly discover. All we do there is waste our time."

"You said that before, Boyd and I've understood it," she announced exasperatedly. "We are going there on order and we have a role to play."

The man only grunted derisively in reply.

Though it was difficult with the shape of the seat, Grace turned slightly to face him. "Peter, you need to calm down and focus. Whatever the reason behind this is, we have to get through an entire weekend, two and a half days, of it. During that time, I need to be sure that you'll do your part." Now being very earnest, she placed her hand on his arm. "Can I trust you on this, Boyd?"

He gave her a look, half annoyed, half sincere. His voice, however, was full of conviction. "You can trust me, Grace. You know that."

"Yes. Yes, I know," she replied equally seriously. The old mischief sparked quickly again, though. "The real question is: can you trust yourself?"

"What?"

"You know, a whole weekend of hobnobbing with high society, do you think you can keep your outbreaks of contempt to a minimum?" she explained, a smirk spreading over her face.

"Grace."

"And even more importantly, do you think you can trust me to behave?"

"Grace!"

Her laughter rang out in the car as she settled comfortably back into the seat. As comfortable as possible, of course.

* * *

 

"I'm calling in regards to my request for the material to be delivered on Saturday night. Can I be assured that it will be delivered at exactly 5 pm on Saturday? All sizes I required? The accessories? Shoes? Hats?"

The person on the other line confirmed the requests.

"Good. And the other requirements I've made?"

A longer silence ensued as the person on the other end elaborated.

"Very well. If the performance meets with my approval, I'll be signing a hefty bonus for you."

The partner seemed to thank profusely, annoying his caller. "It will all depend on the quality of the performance! This party has to be a success at any cost! I will hold you responsible for it."

* * *

 

They'd reached Swindon where they needed to get off of the M4 and go further into the country. She was glad they were using GPS since she doubted Boyd was still capable of finding their way, despite his protestations.

Her cheeky question had silenced him for several minutes. In fact, it had been so quiet in the car that she had become worried. A Boyd in stunned silence didn't fit her picture of the world. It took him a while and a coffee break before he spoke again and even then he sounded ...unsure, for the lack of a better word.

The conversation had been stilted then, the case not offering much to talk about and every other topic out of bounds. Grace almost regretted her words from earlier. If they couldn't talk, much less joke, this weekend would be hardly bearable.

Just a few minutes before their destination, she had had enough and gently placed her hand on his arm again. "Boyd...."

She was ready to apologize, just to rebuild some sort of equilibrium between them, but his question interrupted her apology.

"I stand no chance this weekend, do I?"

Tilting her head, she gave him a confused frown. "Excuse me?"

"Between those airheads on the guest list, the mental host, and you, I'll stand no chance, do I? If they won't drive me crazy, you will."

Grace drew in a deep breath, the insult making her blood boil, but then she saw the corners of his mouth twitch and relaxed back into, admittedly fake, nonchalance. "You can bet on it!"

"Think that's funny, huh?"

"Yes, of course." When he didn't reply, she shook her head. "Come on, Boyd, where's your sense of adventure? Your sense of fun? Spencer told us everything about Rockton's estate. It's a legend of luxury and extravagance. Think of it like visiting an amusement park."

Boyd snorted. "I don't see any fun in that. Amusement parks - that's queuing for hours just to get on some ride that gives you a heart attack if nothing else. Where is the fun in that?"

"It's the rush! The adrenaline! It's like...." Before she could continue, Grace stopped herself, a blush quickly covering her face.

The unfinished sentence hung in the air, the unspoken word gaining volume with every second. Next to her, Boyd smirked, amused by her discomfort. His mind was running wild, the adolescent part of it finding a myriad of vivid images and quite a few involving the flexibility of their car seats. The mischievous part of him, however, couldn't resist to tease her further. A little bit of a dangerous game, but he just couldn't pass up the chance. "Like?"

It was a good thing that they had to stop at the gate of Rockton's estate, because Grace turned her head to stare at him from the corner of her eyes. He could feel her gaze on him as if it burned his skin, its intensity forcing him to look at her as well. She didn't need to answer his cheeky question, their visual connection transported the meaning without effort.

The idea of sharing a room, possibly even a bed, suddenly took on a whole new dimension and Boyd wasn't so sure he could deal with the ramifications.

* * *

 

As expected, they were greeted by a butler. The mansion itself dated back to the Georgian era, well-preserved but showing some neglect. Grace didn't doubt that this appearance was intentional. It was two-storied and grand in size. Many rooms for many guests it seemed.

The butler himself seemed to look at the newcomers with disdain, raising Boyd's hackles quickly. It was with some effort that he controlled himself and retained a facade of polite disinterest. To help the act along, he looked around the grand entry hall, noting the layout and the decoration. He wasn't much of an architecture buff and had even less of an interest for interior design, but the wealth of the owner was screaming in their faces, even if they had tried to ignore it. The same went for Rockton's eccentricity.

To Boyd it all looked over the top, overdone, over-everything, and it made his skin crawl.

Grace, on the other hand, stared at her surroundings with wide-eyed wonder. There was a glimmer in her eyes as she took in their environment. "Marvellous," she whispered.

"If you like this style," Boyd replied quietly, offering her his arm to follow the butler.

"Oh, I do," she replied with something akin to childish delight. "I'm still trying to find a name for the style though. It's certainly...eclectic."

"Sir Miles wished to display all great periods of art in his home, madam," the butler mentioned solemnly. "He says that one should not be forced to give preference to just one artistic achievement, as it dishonours all the others."

"Yes, we can see that." Grace shook her head in delight as they passed by a door that displayed every detail of Empire-architecture. "It has a bit of a tour-de-force through art history, though," she continued, gesturing to a door on the other side of the upstairs hallway that was decorated with original Arab intarsia work.

The butler nodded, while Boyd gave her a look that teetered between incredulousness and admiration.

"Boyd," she whispered secretively, leaning into him for good measure. Drawn by her slightly dreamy smile, he leaned in as well, his mouth suddenly close to hers, creating a moment of intimacy that was theirs alone.

"Yes?" he whispered back.

"Enjoy it," Grace all but mouthed, her breath whispering over his skin, causing a tremor to rush through him.

They stopped, caught in the moment, standing flush against each other and their eyes locked. His hand found hers, his fingers moving slightly against her palm, and he could feel her shiver against him. His other hand came up to trace along her jaw line. Looking into her eyes, he found a storm of emotions stirring in their depth, felt the answering heat coil tightly in his gut. For a moment, he was sure he could name the exact colour of her eyes, know every secret that she hid behind them, and he leaned forward unconsciously, felt her move in as well.

"Pardon, sir. Madam," the butler interrupted, making them both jump apart in shock. "If you are ready...."

Boyd half-turned towards the other man, ready to yell at him for interrupting. Or thank him, he wasn't sure. Grace's hand, still entwined with his, squeezed, however, and he kept silent. Good thing, everybody thought they were married, otherwise he'd never live down this lapse in professional behaviour.

He could see Grace's magnificent blush though and inwardly, he couldn't help but smile.

"We are," he said, cursing the croak that was his voice.

"Very well."

They needed a few moments to recover as they moved further down the hallway, passing by more doors in varied styles from different architectural periods.

"Is it only the doors that are decorated so ornately," Boyd asked as they passed a door of black lacquer work on one side and of lavish rococo on the other side, "or do the rooms follow the same style?"

"Sir Miles believes in doing things all the way," the butler replied, his voice not losing its solemnity for a moment. "Every suite in the house follows the decoration of its entrance. Every detail was chosen with utmost care to represent its era."

Boyd nodded, filing the information away for later investigation.

Grace, on the other hand, stopped in mid-step and turned for a calculating look at the doors they had passed. "Interesting," she mumbled to herself. At Boyd's questioningly raised eyebrow, she shook her head. "I'll tell you later."

At last, the butler stopped in front of a door. The concrete making up the frame was partially plated with marble tiles, while the door as such was made from sturdy wood.

"Sir, madam," the butler said, as he opened the door and led them inside. "This is the Imperial Roman suite. Sir Miles especially wished for you to be accommodated in this abode. He thinks you will appreciate the hypocaust and the bath, and therefore enjoy your stay immensely. A maid will bring your suitcases in a few minutes." Gesturing grandly around the room, he continued, "All amenities are at your disposal and if you wish for anything, please do not hesitate to use the bell on the side table. Introductions and dinner are scheduled for 7 sharp. Please, make yourself comfortable."

Before either Boyd or Grace could say anything, the man was gone, leaving two shocked people to take in their overwhelming surroundings.

For a few minutes, silence reigned, before Boyd ground out, "Grace, is this twilight zone?"


	4. Chapter 4

"No, the Imperial Roman suite. With a hypocaust and a _thermae_ -style bath." Grace shook her head, a little exasperated and a little overwhelmed as well. "You heard the man."

"He didn't call it _thermae_. That was you!" Normally, these words out of Boyd's mouth would have been delivered on a shout that rattled the windows. This time, however, he sounded like a little boy who was denied playing with his new favourite toy. Combined with the little boy expression on his face, it was enough for Grace to turn away quickly.

She wasn't sure she had to suppress a snicker or the urge to go over and ruffle his hair affectionately. Neither would have been appropriate or a very good idea.

"It's the same thing, Boyd," she said by way of explaining, pretending to study their suite more closely.

"Yeah, I know," he grumbled, wandering further into the room. "Might be a blessing too," he ventured after a few minutes. "The floor and the wall look as if they are plated with marble."

"Or some sort of replacement," Grace agreed wandering further. "It's certainly all...period, I guess. The tables, the wall coverings, the statues."

"Greek copies?"

"Possibly copies of antique originals. As far as I know, both Greece and Italy keep the lid fairly closed on exports. Most other countries around the Mediterranean too. But then..." She sighed.

"With the right amount of money...." Boyd sounded a little off, having wandered towards an archway. "Bloody hell!"

"What?" Grace raced over to where he stood, then came to an abrupt stop and gasped. "Oh my!"

He couldn't move from where he stood. In fact, he couldn't move at all. With his gaze firmly fixed at the sight in front of him, he didn't even take it really in, his mind in overload as to what could happen in this room. He closed his eyes, shook his head, and opened them again, but the sight was still there. And with it the images that were rushing before is inner eye with ever growing speed.

Naked, fragrant skin, limbs wrapped around each other, eyes dark with arousal...

He could feel her physical presence as if it was pressing in on him. She didn't touch him and yet he could feel her body heat, was sure her skin was touching his fully, despite the clothes they both still wore. Closing his eyes again, the earlier images came back full force, if possible even more vividly.

Writhing bodies, soft sighs and hisses in that familiar voice...

"Boyd?" Grace sounded shaky, neither her voice nor her body under control, and for a moment he wondered what she saw when she looked at that bed.

He turned slowly to look at her, found her staring ahead as well with her expressive eyes wide and her skin flushed. Involuntarily, his hand rose to touch her cheek, but she took a step forward, closer to the part of the suite that was so obviously designated as a bedroom, and his hand fell back down limply.

"This is insane."

"Roman decadence?" he croaked.

"Modern British money." Over her shoulder she looked at him, then shook her head. "I wonder how they got that thing into this room."

"Does it matter?" Boyd stuttered incredulously. "Who cares how they got it in? It's a ridiculously big bed. They could put an entire football team in it, including all replacements and they'd still not touch each other!"

"Since when are you a footie-man?"

"Pure self-preservation. You'd never let me live it down."

Grace replied with a snort that turned into laughter. "I'm giving you issues, do I?"

Boyd only glared in reply.

"Well, one thing is certain," she ventured as she stepped further into the room to touch the bed and its sheets. "We can both sleep in this bed and never even know the other is there. Your virtue will remain absolutely safe."

"My virtue?" Shaking his head, he also went closer to the bed, but remained on the other side. From this spot, Grace seemed far away, but even over the distance, he could see the impish glint in her eyes. "You think I couldn't defend myself?"

She shrugged, her smirk widening.

Never one to back down from a challenge, Boyd rounded the bed and stood before her, though towering was more like it. Of course, it had never worked on Grace, who wasn't in the least intimidated by him, but the inches he had on her were an advantage he was willing to take. Pitching his voice to its lowest level, he asked, "What about your virtue, Grace? Do you think you can handle it?"

It irked her that she had to look up at him despite the heels she wore. Physical intimidation was just his style and she wondered if hitting his shin would stop him from doing so. It was childish, stupidly so, especially since their situation was anything but. The way Boyd stood she could easily trace his chest with her eyes, follow the lines of muscles she imagined were hidden beneath his jacket and shirt. She could also feel his body heat and smell his cologne. The images that gave her were far from childishly innocent.

The topic they were discussing, which she had brought up, was far from innocent as well. Her virtue? What a loaded question.

"It all depends," she ventured, trying to cover up any uncertainty.

"On what?" Boyd moved imperceptibly closer, so that their noses almost touched.

"The football team you allow into that bed. I do have preferences, you know."

For a moment there was silence in the room, then an agonised groan mingled with laughter.

* * *

 

"Ah, good, finally we are all together," Sir Miles announced excitedly as two men, dressed in tuxedoes entered the lounge. This room, styled in good old Victorian splendour, was now filled with an assortment of people who couldn't be any more different.

There was, naturally, Evan, who was already busy staring down Grace's much more demure cleavage, and thus making Boyd clench his fists at his sides. Even without the mask, the man's face was so indistinct that he had to wonder how that man could be such an important person. Grace's warning to behave was still fresh in his mind, though, her nails digging into his palm as a reminder enforcing the issue. So, he had plastered an insincere smile onto his face and listened to the younger man as he waxed lyrically about the countryside and beautiful women who were so fascinating. Since his gaze wasn't trained on Grace's face....

Evan had come with a couple, the woman who was supposedly his manager and the man being his secretary and chauffeur. Boyd had quickly forgotten their names, hoped that Grace would remember them for a later check.

Then there were Marlena, God how that name grated on his nerves already, and her husband, Arthur. Just seeing Grace's expression as they entered the room, he knew that personified obnoxiousness had joined them. It took all but ten seconds for him to wholeheartedly detest them. If they came within five feet of him, he wouldn't be able to guarantee a civil situation.

Eyeing the two men who had come in last, he couldn't find anything distinguishing in them, but that didn't need to mean anything. He assumed that introductions would be made soon enough.

"Does everybody have a glass of champagne?" Sir Miles asked enthusiastically. Just as it had been during the party the weekend before he looked as if he might finish every sentence with a gleeful clap of his hands.

Inwardly rolling his eyes, Boyd accepted a glass of the expensive drink and, while eyeing the content of his glass, calculated just how many he'd have to empty to be able to get through this weekend with his mind intact.

"Smile, Boyd. It's supposed to be a party," Grace whispered, leaning back against him. The picture they presented was ostentatiously intimate with their constant touches and whispered verbal exchanges. It was a ruse, naturally, their only way to be able to communicate without arising suspicion. They wouldn't be able to be in touch with anybody outside the estate until morning and they couldn't be sure... In fact, Grace felt as if there were eyes on them constantly.

So, his hand possessively on her waist was an act, a show of marital possessiveness, just as for him it was an act of protection. Of course, it didn't help that this position brought her rear in very close contact with a certain delicate part of his body. A ruse... He wondered how long he could keep up the pretence.

"Smile," she whispered again and he had to shake himself.

"I'm smiling," he ground out between clenched teeth, but it only garnered him a quiet chuckle.

"Try harder. We are here as the most interesting sideshow. People want to see something."

Boyd growled quietly, his face darkening, and so Grace turned and cupped his cheek. "That's not a smile," she teased gently.

"Aaawww." Behind them Sir Miles gushed loudly. "It's such a joy seeing the two of you like that. The epitome of a happy marriage."

Both Grace and Boyd stiffened at the voice behind them, their gazes still fixed on each other. If they had been anywhere else, loud groans might have erupted, but since they were still playing a role, there were only pained smiles they both quickly suppressed. The rolling eyes, however, were difficult to hide.

"No, really, my friends," Sir Miles stopped the murmurs in the round. "Grace and Boyd are such a grand couple. They can even argue about taking other people in their bed. Even about football, though I really don't see the appeal of that sport. It's so...vulgar, but still, I guess a real love can overcome everything, don't you agree?"

Several pairs of eyes narrowed, but none of it was shown to the public as Grace turned towards the assembled crowd and gestured with a polite smile for the host to continue with his introductions.

"As I was saying," Sir Miles picked up his words again, "I am very glad that all of you could make it here to my humble home, my friends. I promise, you will not be disappointed. Ahead of you lies a weekend full of enjoyable luxuries and, of course, the twist I promised you. So, let us toast to a wonderful, exciting weekend among friends."

* * *

 

Dinner was indeed delicious, Grace had to admit. Though she didn't want to imagine where their host had acquired a few of the ingredients at this time of the year and therefore, how much he'd paid for them, the food was excellent. The wines had been picked with utmost and professional care. If life could continue in this venue, she wouldn't complain.

While the backdrop was out of this world, the actual part of life was as well, just from a different angle. She couldn't be sure how much Rockton knew about them, was certain that their role-files had not contained certain details, but who knew who and how these details had been spread.

Boyd said across from her on the other side of the table, between Marlena and Evan and even without looking at him, she knew that he was desperately reciting regulation lists in his head. From the looks of it, it didn't help much, and being caught between the very talkative Mr. Frazer to her left and their over-excited host to her right, she fully understood his dilemma.

Between the two men she barely got a word in edgewise, which wasn't altogether unfamiliar having worked with Boyd for so long, but he yelled, they blubbered inanely. Yelling didn't seem so bad in comparison.

"How do you like your bathroom, my dear Grace?" the host interrupted her thoughts.

This made her smile genuinely. "It's...incredible. Makes me long for a bathroom like that at home. I don't think I'd ever leave it again. I've only seen something as luxurious in reconstruction pictures of the Roman originals."

"Yes." Sir Miles raised his glass in a toast which she reciprocated. "I have to admit I am quite proud of that accomplishment. The Imperial Roman suite turned out beautiful and quite close to antique plans."

"You won't find me saying otherwise. I am no expert, of course, Boyd's the history specialist of the two of us." The man in question looked up, his interest suddenly peaked, and it became obvious quickly that everybody else around the table was just as curious. "But I noticed how much care has gone into the details of that room. The wall panelling, the mosaics in the floor. All of it looks like a Roman villa rustica."

"Oh yes, oh yes. But see, you do know about history. Not only about football."

"She's a very smart woman," Boyd interrupted from the other side, an edge to his voice. He didn't like where this was going and the repeated reference the conversation he and Grace had had in their suite made him uneasy. Besides, he didn't like how Rockton was eyeing _his wife_.

"Oh Boyd, I have absolutely no doubt about that. I was merely paying your wife a compliment. Her eye for detail is remarkable."

"Thank you," Grace replied with a demure smile, trying to ease the tension around the table. "Your estate is quite a challenge for my dormant knowledge of art history. Curious too."

"Curious? I'm a curious man, I guess."

"Yes, maybe." Grace laughed lightly. "However, I noticed something that made me wonder if it's coincidence or deliberate."

"And what is that, my dear?"

"I've got the impression that you prefer the decadent styles of declining empires. Greatest bloom in death, if you want."

She caught Boyd's gaze for a moment, reading a bit of admiration, mixed with his ever-present worry, and something she didn't want to dwell on too deeply in his eyes. She gave him a quick, reassuring smile before focusing on Sir Miles again. "Am I correct?"

Raising his glass in a toast, Rockton nodded. "I am impressed, Grace. Very impressed. In fact, you noticing provides me with the perfect way to introduce the one aspect of this weekend I am sure all of you are most curious about. The _twist_ in this weekend."

Excited murmurs rose around the table, but Boyd ignored it, first concentrating on Rockton before looking at Grace carefully. As their gazes locked, he wished they had been seated closer together. He was almost desperate to talk to her quietly, just speaking what was rushing through his mind, and at the same time being able to maybe touch her. Calm her and himself as well.

"One of the very successful items 'On the Rocks'-books publishes is a board game where people meet at a dinner party to enjoy good food and solve a crime together."

At these words, Boyd closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. He didn't like where this was going. Not in the least.

"However, I believe a board game is a little too cheap for such an illustrious group as you, my friends. So, we will put a little more of an edge to it. This weekend's twist is a crime."

Rockton paused to let the information settle among his guests. His face showed just how much he had been anticipating this moment.

"Somebody, who is now in this very room, will fall victim to a vicious crime this weekend."

There was another pause for effect.

"And as our incredible Grace here has pointed out, this house consists of many great periods of art. But each period of art also had its very own art of crime. One of us will fall victim to a crime that will be very typical of one of the periods displayed in this house."

Once again Rockton paused, his gaze fixing on Boyd, who barely held his annoyance in. Sir Miles smiled triumphantly.

"So, let me open the game of period crime. And let me wish you all a successful stay here...And..." He got up and slowly circled the table, his childishly soft hands touching each of his guests as he went.

"...a healthy one."


	5. Chapter 5

"All I'm saying is that we should bring everybody in for questioning and be done with it!"

"And what exactly do you think you would achieve by blowing our cover and rattle all the other guests and the employees? Not to mention the host. Have you forgotten what the ACC said?"

"I'm not likely to forget it, Grace. It was what landed me with this nightmare of a wasted weekend in the middle of nowhere in the first place."

Searching for release for his pent up frustrations, Boyd marched forward with forceful steps. All this was a pain in the arse and it wasn't helped by the fact that he had woken up that morning, in that huge bed, with somewhat of a physiologically pressing problem, and a woman in his arms who'd better not notice his predicament. He'd never live it down. Not that it wasn't her fault in the first place, but that was beside the point.

"You know," Grace said lightly behind him after a few minutes of angry stalking through the countryside. She sounded a little winded, but he didn't bother to turn and look at her. Her breathing heavily would go a little too far for his already vivid imagery.

"Boyd!" This time it was a command and he stopped dutifully and looked at her over his shoulder. She was flushed and breathing heavily, and he studiously avoided looking at her directly.

"You know," she started again, "Under different circumstances I would be insulted by your constant displeasure about having to spend time with me..."

He sputtered, jumping immediately to correct her, tell her that it wasn't her, that in fact she was the best thing about this weekend, the best thing...

"...But since this _is_ a pain in the behind and severely testing _my_ patience, I guess I just grin and bear your complaints."

Boyd looked at her, the grin tugging at the corners of her mouth and the glint in her eyes, and deflated instantly. Extending his hand, he pulled her closer when she took it and embraced her. Grace started but it lasted only for a moment. "Sorry," he apologized.

"It's alright," she whispered, and relaxed further into their hug.

They stood like that for a few minutes, relaxed and peaceful all of a sudden, but then the squawk of some bird interrupted the moment. Boyd pulled back slightly and shook his head. "This bird reminds me of Rockton."

Grace snorted. "What?"

"It's the same squawky voice and that man interrupts constantly as well. He just pops up out of nowhere."

She kept chuckling incredulously for a moment before turning serious. "This popping up bothers me, Boyd. To me it feels like we are under constant scrutiny. As if we are under some sort of a microscope where he's watching us all the time."

"I know what you mean." He shook his head. "How did he know that you were wearing my pyjama shirt last night?"

"Don't know. I do know, however, that it was an inappropriate topic for the breakfast table. I don't think it endeared us to the other guests."

"Can't say that I see that as a loss. They don't endear themselves to me either."

Grace chuckled lightly and as close as they were, he could feel every small shake of her body. Every bump of her against him as well.

"It was a smart idea, though, to give me the shirt. If Rockton is really watching us this closely, then sharing a pyjama can only strengthen our act of a happily married couple."

Boyd smiled, a little pleased with himself. It was all for their host's benefit apparently, but that didn't mean...She looked good in the shirt, tousled and sleepy in the morning. For that image alone, he'd go back to wearing such old-fashioned garments again.

"You think he has cameras installed in the rooms?" The thought made him bristle, the momentary tranquillity quickly forgotten. "Bloody son..."

Grace shrugged. "I don't know. Could have been the maid providing him with information about our possessions too." He stared at her, demanding an answer. "Or he has cameras installed. Each room comes from his mind, putting closed circuit in during the refurbishment would have been easy."

"The maid wouldn't have been able to tell him that you wore my shirt last night. "

"But she could have started with our suite..."

"Grace, be reasonable here!"

" I am reasonable, Boyd." She smiled. "I am pointing out all options. Even if they are unlikely."

"Oh, come on. Stop splitting hairs. That guy has cameras installed and sits in some sort of private cinema getting his rocks off watching us do..."

"Yes?" She smirked. "Do...what?"

Boyd looked at her for a long time as if she was out of her mind, then buried his face in his hands and groaned.

"For that alone...!" he announced after a long while, during which he continued to groan and Grace stood by and smirked.

"You'd need evidence."

"That's why I'm saying we just bring them all in and question them!" Gesturing wildly, Boyd stomped around in the small hollow they had reached. His movements lacked the jerkiness of real anger; in fact, he was just doing it for show now, though why, he would never admit.

"On what grounds, Boyd?" Grace had seen right through his act, he knew that as soon as she stepped close and gently pulled his arms down. She didn't let go of his hands after that, their fingers unconsciously entwining. "We are on Rockton's turf and as long as we don't have anything in hand, it's his play and we have to follow his script."

For a moment he was silent, his thumbs brushing her palms absently. "As if we are his new playthings," he ventured after a while, frustration still evident in his posture and his words.

"I think that's very close to the truth," Grace replied quietly and gently tugged him along to walk further. That they kept holding hands didn't register. "We are the sideshow of this weekend."

"But what for? With all those characters he has assembled, we are easily the most boring. We're too normal."

"Normal?"

He groaned again. "Don't even think of getting psychological with me here."

"Wouldn't dream of it." They chuckled quietly before Grace continued. "Rockton's keen interest in us as a couple is a bit disconcerting."

"A bit?"

"You might be right about his voyeuristic interests."

"Again, what for? It's not like he'd need to lure them to his estate to see how they go about day to day business. Unless, of course..."

"Jumping to conclusions again, Boyd?"

"He forecast a murder this weekend. And he is all over you. What else am I supposed to think?"

* * *

 

They returned from their walk around lunchtime, each step closer to the manor filling them with more dread. By the time they could see the house again, Boyd was groaning piteously and Grace didn't do anything to stop him.

Despite the excellent food, another round of insinuations and idle chatter didn't appeal to either of them, leisure of this kind too meaningless for both. If she were honest, Grace wondered whether she could get away with faking a headache, but if their camera theory was correct, she wouldn't have the solitude she sought. Besides, there was no telling what kind of trouble Boyd could get into left to his own devices in such an environment.

Still, Grace wanted, no needed, some time to herself. The last 24 hours had been hard on her self control and her somewhat frayed emotions. Ever since this weekend had begun, she had found herself showing a kind of physical affection for Boyd that she would normally only give a lover, but here and now it came as naturally as breathing. Holding his hand, hugging him. And Boyd did the same.

They were behaving like an old married couple and it wasn't even difficult to act out.

Maybe that was the thing that bothered her so much. During their walk there had been no need for pretence, yet they had behaved as if they still had to play the couple. It happened instinctively.

And it felt good.

The problem, if she wanted to analyse the situation, was that she was beginning to lose sight of the realities of their relationship. Yes, they were slowly getting back to what could be considered normal between them, but it was still not what it used to be before the comfortable ease had been destroyed through stress, hurt and death. In the beginning they could flirt like it went out of style without second-guessing. When they were flirting now, and what they were doing was nothing else, there was always something behind it - an ever growing elephant.

If they went for it now, there would be consequences.

However, she didn't want to think about those consequences and therefore pushed the thoughts aside with a resolute sigh.

"You okay?" he asked quietly and tucked her hand more securely into the crook of his arm.

"Yeah," Grace acknowledged equally as quiet. It lacked conviction and she knew he could hear it, but as long as he didn't figure the actual reason...

"Oooh, there you are! We were already wondering whether you got lost in the countryside!"

"God, spare me, please!" Boyd groaned and tightened his hold on Grace. "Not that nutjob."

"Smile, Boyd, smile," Grace ground out between clenched teeth. In the few hours she had known Annabelle, the woman had already managed to piss her off. A 'no' didn't exist in that tart's world and thus she threw herself at everything that moved, as long as it was male and even remotely capable of screwing her.

As she sauntered across the lawn, the woman's smile was bright and toothy. "Did you have a nice hike? Isn't the weather today just dreamy?" she called unnecessarily loud, before stopping in front of them and effectively forcing them to halt their steps as well.

"Yeah," Boyd replied unenthusiastically and tightened his grip on Grace's hand.

Unperturbed, Annabelle continued. "I've always said, this region is groovy, but Evan never listened to me." Her beaming smile grew even wider as she leaned closer to Boyd, as if telling him a secret. The sudden closeness made him instinctively pull back, but Annabelle wasn't bothered and instead pushed herself between Boyd and Grace, taking over Grace's spot at Boyd's arm.

As much as he tried to pull back, Boyd found himself suddenly caught in a vice-like grip.

Pushed aside like that, Grace stood a step back with her expression darker than the DSI's had ever been. "I'm surprised Evan allowed you out of the house," she interrupted in a sickly sweet voice. "Aren't you here to work, Annabelle? You were telling us last night that a manager's work is never done." The woman looked over her shoulder to give Grace a glare full of disdain, but, if possible, the profiler's smile turned even sweeter. "Or was it a secretary's job? You know, your boss didn't really say which job you do for him."

Annabelle's face changed into thunderclouds and if it were possible, she would have slapped the older woman. So far, she had mostly ignored the _wife_ and only gazed at Boyd, and from the looks of it, had seen a whole lot more of him before her inner eye.

Grace looked unbothered, her smile wide and sweet. The message in her posture, however, was unmistakable.

Boyd finally managed to escape the physical contact with Annabelle and took a step around to take Grace's hand in his. During their previous encounters, he had found the secretary/manager rather rude and now found himself downright disgusted. He didn't like anybody offending Grace. Nobody dared.

"If you excuse us, Annabelle, we'd like to freshen up after our hike. We'll see you at lunch, I presume." With that, he gently pulled Grace towards the house, shaking his head at the encounter.

Annabelle remained rooted to the spot for a moment, her face still drawn into an angry scowl, before stalking off.

Tugging Grace's hand back into the crook of his arm, he quietly whispered, "I never thought you could be so bitchy."

She squeezed his arm, leaning onto him for support. "Bloody tart!" was hissed out between clenched teeth.

* * *

 

"I think a nice hot shower and a moment of peace and quiet is exactly what I need now," Boyd murmured quietly as they slowly walked up the staircase towards their suite. Since they had said it out loud that there might be cameras rolling everywhere in the house, he suspected one in every nook and cranny he could see.

Being this much under surveillance was bothersome to say the least and not for the first time, did he wish he could nick Rockton for it. That he couldn't set his blood to boil, not the only thing but ranking chiefly among them.

"Peace and quiet." Next to him, Grace's voice sounded pressed. "Maybe you should have stayed with Annabelle then. She'd have shown you a good time, I'm sure."

"You're not serious, are you?" he snorted incredulously, giving her a stare.

Instead of an answer, she shrugged.

"The area must be doing your head in."

Once again, Grace failed to answer, but instead glared at him.

Realization dawned, brief as it was in Boyd's case, and he grinned widely. "Oh Grace," he teased, smug and disbelieving at the same time, "You can't be serious." His grin turned into a chuckle. "You are not serious. Did you get a good look at her?"

Her face still dark with annoyance, Grace pulled away, but Boyd managed to hold onto her hand and pulled her back. The momentum was a bit more than they both anticipated and so they slammed into each other, momentarily knocking the air out of both of them.

When they came back to themselves, they were flush against each other, their bodies aligned, planes to curves, both their breathing uneven. Instinctively, Boyd's arms went around her waist, hers holding onto his sides. Out of flushed faces their eyes locked, words unnecessary as there was an entire film playing out in their silent communication. He could feel her breath against his mouth, so close that he could feel the warmth. He could smell the fresh outside air in her hair and he could see the flecks of grey in her blue eyes.

"You can't be serious," he rumbled, before leaning in.

Grace felt herself be drawn to his mouth, closing the distance until she could swear she felt his beard bristle against her skin. Her eyes fluttered closed in anticipation.


	6. Chapter 6

"Oh my God!"

An ear-piercing scream filled the air, seemingly resounding in the entire house.

They jumped apart as if burned, cursing the disruption of their almost-kiss silently. For a moment they simultaneously contemplated why they had waited with their attempt to kiss until it was almost a given that they'd be interrupted, but the high-pitched scream still reverberated around the house, forcing them to discard the thought.

With just a short glance at each other, they rushed down the stairs again, towards the origin of the scream that was slowly becoming garbled. The spot was easy to find as apparently everybody in the house - oddly enough in varying states of undress - rushed towards the source of the noise.

Both Boyd and Grace noted the clothing situation, as well as the number of people, with well-hidden professional thoroughness, hoping that it might give hints later on.

Rushing into the kitchen, the source of the scream became quickly apparent. Next to an open door that led downstairs, presumably to the wine cellar, Marlena was leaning against the wall, her eyes wide and her face as white as a sheet.

"What happened?" Arthur asked his wife, his voice not overly caring. Since he was one of the unsuitably undressed people, it was rather obvious that he had been disturbed doing...something.

"Down...down there," she stuttered in reply, her stance that of a person close to hysteria. "I thought...I..."

Arthur and Sir Miles, along with the butler, stepped close to the door and took a look down, all three of them gasping. "Oh God!"

Catching Boyd's eye through the crowd, Grace gestured for him to move forward, but keep their cover intact. "May I?" the policeman asked, politely as it was.

The others fell back immediately, something Grace found a little strange. Of course, Boyd did have a hugely commanding presence, one she wasn't immune to, especially when he went into detective mode. People's reaction was normal enough, though she wondered - briefly - why they so easily deferred.

One look down the stairs, Boyd began to issue orders. "We need better lighting down there. Can you bring more lights? Flashlights or something?" The staff, waiting in the kitchen as well, quickly scampered off to bring the wished for items.

"What happened?" Sir Miles asked, still sounding like a child, though all glee had left him.

"I don't know," Boyd replied quietly, "but we should call the police. Grace," he called for his _wife_ as a cook came back with a handful of flashlights, "take a look."

She grabbed one of the lights and moved towards the stairs. Looking down, she had to avert her eyes for a moment. Despite the fact that she saw things like this every day, there were times when it was gut-wrenching. Maybe this one was because it reminded her of another sight like this. Maybe it was something else entirely.

At the foot of the stairs, a young girl in a maid's costume lay, her limbs at unnatural angles, indicating that some of them had been broken. Blood was oozing onto the stone floor, matting her hair and building a pool underneath the girl. It seemed to come from her head and for a moment, Grace wondered whether it was mixed with brain matter.

Giving Boyd a short look, understanding passed between them. Then Grace focused on their host. "He's right. You really should call the police. And an ambulance."

* * *

 

"I don't want police in the house," Sir Miles insisted petulantly, despite the protestations of the other guests and the staff as well. "Those people trample on anything. They'd destroy my carpets and my artefacts. No!"

A cook was providing Marlena with a stiff drink and sat her down on a chair by the window, while Evan and, surprisingly, Annabelle tried to calm down their host.

"Grace, a word," Boyd called and gestured for Grace to follow him outside. Making sure that nobody was listening in, but reducing their physical distance as much as possible nonetheless, he whispered, "Think what I'm thinking?"

Grace nodded. "I don't like it."

"Remember what you said when we came back from that party?"

Again she nodded, her earlier quick grimace becoming a constant thing.

"What do we do?"

"Smuggle in Eve would be best, but I don't see how."

"Neither do I."

"Mr. Parker, Mrs. Parker," the butler stepped out onto the kitchen patio with a slight bow. "Sir Miles asks you to join him in the dining room where he gathers all of his guests. Lunch will be served in...," the butler paused, "half an hour. The cook will try to save as much of your meal as possible."

Their eyes widened at the seeming nonchalance. "And the police?"

"Sir Miles ordered me to take care of the situation, sir."

"You're not just letting the poor girl lie there, will you?" Grace asked incredulously.

"Of course not, madam. Other members of the house staff will take care of her."

"Who's going to inform her family?"

"I'm afraid Mia was an orphan, madam. Nobody will ask for her, I fear." Every word was delivered in the same stately manner the butler had used that morning to give the weather forecast for the day. It made the couple shake their heads in disbelief and Boyd's fist clench in quickly rising anger. Only Grace's hand covering it held him in check.

"If you'll follow me now, sir, madam," the butler continued unperturbed.

In a daze, they made their way through the house into the dining room.

* * *

 

Lunch was a subdued affair with the guests silently picking at their food. It annoyed Sir Miles, who tried to make light-hearted conversation, but it seemed all the more stilted by the way his jokes fell short.

Afterwards, the group retired to the lounge and their tongues began to come loose as several glasses of strong spirits were consumed. Both Grace and Boyd held back, nursing one drink the entire time, observing the group instead.

The more alcohol was drunk, the more raucous it got, and a line seemed to be crossed as Arthur, somewhat shrilly after his third double Scotch, snickered about the twist of the weekend having fallen flat.

Next to her, Grace could feel Boyd start, his entire body tensing up like a tiger ready to pounce. It must be the alcohol, she figured, that made her think of him in such a connection. In such a situation. Again.

Or she was becoming silly in her old age.

It was only Grace's presence next to him, and the fact that she stiffened as well at Arthur's careless words, that kept him from going over and punching the lights out of that arsehole. How dare he say that?

Though something was definitely amiss, there was a dead body lying in the wine cellar...

"What do you mean, my dear friend?" Oddly enough, Rockton sounded genuinely surprised.

"Oh Miles," Arthur sneered as he rose from his sprawled position on the couch, his difficulties being a testament to his state of intoxication. "This weekend hardly keeps the promise you made for it." He lurched towards the bar to fill up his glass. He managed, but not without sloshing the expensive liquid about.

"He's right, ya know," Evan's male companion of the undefined job piped up. "You promised a weekend with a twist and all we have is a dead kitchen maid."

"Yeah Miles," a third voice, belonging to Sebastian, one of the men who had been introduced as the illustrators for Evan's new book, agreed. "A dead kitchen maid is hardly the kind of exciting case you made us expect. You are slipping, my friend." Standing by the bar, he helped himself to another shot of gin.

By the window, Grace was close to screaming. It all sounded and looked surreal, like one of those naturalistic dramas of downfall in decadence. There was a dead body lying at the bottom of a staircase, no police having been called in to make at least sure...And these people complained about the entertainment not living up to expectations. Was the whole world going mad?

"I wouldn't call it slipping," Annabelle's metallic voice came from a chair by the fireplace. "But it's hardly a period style murder."

"And the girl wasn't in the room when Miles made his announcement." Marlena seemed to have recovered from her shock with the help of a few glasses of whisky and now stood by the fireplace, giving her husband a defiant stare. Their standoff lasted for a few seconds, but lacked in tension because of their intoxication.

Boyd, still standing halfway behind Grace, shook his head. This was a nightmare from which he wasn't sure his sensibility would recover for a long time to come. With everything he had heard and seen, he would have liked nothing better than to ask a few people a few very pointed questions.

This, however, was not to be. Next to him he could feel Grace begin to shiver and he knew it was only a matter of moments until she would shake in rage. He remembered the situation, it had happened before. Tremors running through her hands as she shouted her frustrated observations into his face.

For a moment, he shut out the squabble of the other guests and focussed completely on Grace. His hands came up to take hold of her arms and squeeze gently. "If you excuse us, please," he spoke quietly, but with polite authority. "I'm afraid, my wife isn't feeling too well and needs to lie down for a bit." Then turning to Grace, he tenderly continued, "Okay, love?"

Grace nodded dazedly, a small smile flickering around the corners of her mouth. "Yeah, thanks," she whispered.

"Oh, I'm so sorry." Sir Miles sailed towards them, all apologetic and concerned. "That's just the worst thing, feeling ill on such a weekend. And with the great dinner tonight too." Almost bowling them over in his renewed fervour, both Grace and Boyd instinctively took half a step back, their smiles more of a grimace. "But it's a good idea, Boyd. Grace, take a nap and you'll be as good as new for the big dinner tonight. You simply can't miss it!"

Once again, Grace smiled tremulously and nodded.

"Why?" Boyd's tone took on a protective edge, his hold on Grace tightening.

"Oh, because you see," Sir Miles' earlier gleeful enthusiasm returned. "My other guests," he gestured somewhat derisively at the rest of the group, "are a little hasty in their complaints. That kitchen maid...that was," his derision flowed over into a snort, "just a diversion. A sideshow, if you want... The real twist I promised has not even begun."

* * *

 

Though he figured that Grace would be safe and undisturbed in their suite, Boyd wasn't too comfortable with the idea of leaving her alone anywhere in this house. He was probably beginning to be paranoid, but this house and its occupants were slowly but surly giving him the creeps. Grace was probably right - wouldn't be the first time and certainly not the last that she was.

In this environment, they were the freaks.

And that was something that worried Peter Boyd, aka Boyd Parker, a whole damn lot.

Quietly, he crept down the stairs and then towards the kitchen. It was to be assumed that all of his steps were monitored, but he had a plausible explanation at hand, supported by the fact that he had left his _wife_ after tenderly tucking her in for a nap. Maybe he had overdone it a little, the tenderness part and the tucking in part too, but it had been not only calming but also strangely addictive to sit perched on the bed, holding Grace's hand and stroking her cheek.

The image made him smile, how she had relaxed, her eyes fluttering shut. He had almost leaned down and kissed her, but at the last second...

They had been playing the married couple not yet 24 hours and already the motions came more naturally than they had ever been in his first marriage. Stopping midstep, Boyd stood stock still. The sooner they got this resolved, the better. If they had to pretend for much longer that they were married, his mind would get done in and he'd believe they are married for real. Not that it wouldn't be a damn sight better than...

Groaning and shaking his head, Boyd marched on towards the kitchen with renewed determination. Action. Keep acting and stop thinking. It was bad enough that he caught himself looking at Grace and playing out entire romantic movies with the two of them in the leading roles before his inner eye. If anybody knew of these thoughts, they'd certify him. Hell, Grace would be the first to book him into a closed ward.

The kitchen door loomed before him, but caught in his muddled thoughts the DSI didn't register it. Only inside the surprisingly quiet kitchen did he notice where he was.

Focus.

That was it. Just focus.

First course of action was to find a kettle and put it to boil. Then place a mug next to it and rummage for something like tea. It wasn't a difficult thing, it just needed to look as if there was a bit of a mess. That done, he quickly walked over to the wine cellar and opened the door. Turning the light on, the scene didn't really surprise him. For good measure though, he went down the steps and checked.

Noises made him rush up again, and he made it out of the cellar, before anybody caught him.

"Sir?" a kitchen help asked nervously, wondering what anyone of Sir Miles' guests would want now.

Boyd drew a deep breath, hopeful that he appeared nonchalant enough. "Ah, there you are. You can help me," he announced to the startled maid with a bright and winning smile. "I am looking for teas. You see, my wife is not feeling well and I was looking for the right tea to help her headache. Only..." He pointed to the half a dozen boxes, "I'm afraid I didn't really find the right one. I was getting so desperate..." Apologetically, he pointed to the cellar door. It was a lame excuse at best, and a halfwit could spot the lie, but the maid - whether she was confused or actually not even a halfwit - let it slide.

Instead, eager to please her employer's important guest, who was also so handsome and so charming, and so obviously caring - how she wished Matty, her boyfriend, could be like this - the maid bustled around the kitchen and pulled out about a dozen other variety of teas.

Boyd made a big show out of choosing, asking here, asking there...

By the time the kitchen had filled up with staff again, everybody was ready to swear high and low that Mr. Parker was the nicest guest they had ever had in the manor. And poor Mrs. Parker, ill though she was, had to be a very lucky woman.

* * *

 

"No, I am not satisfied at all! The weekend is not going as it was planned. Nothing, absolutely nothing, is going right. Your people are bungling fools!"

The person on the other end of the phone apologized profusely, but even that didn't seem to convince.

"No, I will not excuse. You promised me a performance of sizzling hot tension. We haven't even got bubbles in the water yet! That is not what I expected!"

Once again, the person on the other end of the phone line tried to make amends and promised an improvement.

"Your people better step their performance up or you can kiss your bonus goodbye!" The caller sounded angry. "And if the costumes are not delivered expeditiously and meet with my approval, I will think twice about paying you at all!"

A sputter of shock sounded on the other end.

"I will not be disappointed with this party, Mister. That's my last word."


	7. Chapter 7

At this time of the year, that sun didn't have much of a radius and barely any power. Therefore, it wasn't a surprise that they had donned heavy coats for their second walk of the day.

"You know, I never thought I'd enjoy walking in the countryside so much," Boyd muttered, displeased. "But I'd gladly walk the rest of the weekend, if that means we can escape the nuthouse."

"You won't hear me disagreeing," Grace replied, squeezing his hand.

"Good. Good." Boyd squeezed hers in return.

They walked on for a few minutes, both content in their thoughts, though they didn't necessarily connect to the estate on which they were walking. Then Boyd suddenly stopped and turned to his companion. "Grace, I admit it," he announced.

"You admit to something?" came the gently teasing reply.

"Of course, a perfect person like me can admit to minor lapses of genius every now and then."

Grace chuckled and shook her head. "Genius. Perfect person?"

"Of course." He grinned boyishly, pulling her closer.

"You do know that delusion is a psychological condition that can take on pathological dimensions?" Their coats were quite cumbersome, but despite them Grace felt their closeness keenly. It felt comfortable to be held and touched like that, see that gentle smile on Boyd's face. She wasn't used to it; told herself time and again not to get used to it, but it would be so easy.

Boyd laughed, then shook his head. "So, if I'm translating these complicated words into proper English, you are trying to tell me that..."

"...you are very full of yourself and a therapist would find a whole lot of treatment-worthy conditions in this one statement."

"And you don't?"

"Of course not. Since I _am_ practically perfect in every way."

Boyd deflated theatrically, staring at his companion. For a moment he wondered whether he would get away with pushing her to the ground or tickling her until she begged for mercy and stopped being ten steps ahead of him all the time, but her smirk was widening constantly and he opted for simply shaking his head and letting it slide.

For the moment.

Taking pity on him, Grace raised her hand to cup his cheek. "Sorry," she whispered, though it was quite clear that she wasn't completely repentant.

Feeling the warmth of her touch, Boyd smiled, willing to let this slide as well.

"What do you admit, Boyd?"

He didn't catch on right away, still too busy revelling in her touch and wondering when she had developed the power to turn him into mush like that. "Hmmm?"

"Admitting, Boyd?" Grace grinned. "What do you admit?"

"Oh. That."

"Yeah. That."

"You were right."

"I know." She paused. "About what?"

Boyd rolled his eyes, but went on with his explanation. "We must be the sideshow. Those people are mental! Completely and totally mad! And Rockton is the worst!"

Pulling back a little, but making sure that their embrace remained, Grace gave him a small smile. "What makes you say that?"

"You've got to be kidding me, Grace!" Boyd took a step back and started gesturing wildly. "Even with all your psychological expertise, you can't convince me that those people behave normally! They complain that a dead kitchen maid isn't exciting enough. They slug the food and the alcohol with a dead body in the house. They call each other darling..."

"Which isn't a sign of mental disturbance, neither is a homosexual relationship..."

"How...?"

"Never mind. Just go on."

"One day, Grace..."

She laughed. "I wonder how much of Marlena's and Arthur's marriage is a sham, though." She paused thoughtfully for a moment. "On second thoughts, I don't. It's more interesting what they both gain from pretending to be married. It's the big question here, I think. What do people gain from being here this weekend?"

He came closer again and took her hand. Turning slightly, he started walking again, away from the house that was still looming behind them. "You think it's a set up," he said after a while.

"It is."

"And we play the role of additional entertainment."

"Yeah."

"Why?"

In response, she shrugged. She didn't have an answer to this question.

Shaking his head quietly, Boyd finally dismissed this line of thought. There was no point to it now.

They kept on walking, slowly and calmly towards the greenhouses. The silence between them was peaceful, soothing even. They had a full evening with a themed dinner party ahead of them and both knew that it would be a severe test of patience and endurance.

Just before leaving the house, they had run into Sir Miles again, along with half of the party. All of them had almost fallen over each other trying to assure themselves that Grace was feeling better for the costume party later on. The interest was as fake and insincere as anything and there had even been a moment when Grace had considered it an insult to her intelligence to be treated that way. The poor little wife... Idiots!

The memory made her blood boil and she stopped short, exclaiming, "I can't believe we have to go through this tonight! Can you imagine the costume I'll have to wear?"

It might have been a bit of a mistake, but Boyd made it anyway. He snorted. And then he laughed. And then he received a mighty slap from one small profiler, who definitely threw a bigger punch than she looked like she could.

Rubbing the spot on his shoulder where she had hit him, Boyd gave her an incredulous look. "What was that for?"

"For poking fun at my malaise! I am the one who has to wear a ridiculously short skirt with fringes and if they even think of handing me a feather boa and one of those crappy head pieces, I'll beat them with a stick!"

He kept silent, thinking it prudent not to share what the thought of her in one of those dresses did to his blood pressure. He didn't remember much about the period, but very short skirts were only one aspect of typical women's wardrobe. There were also rather tight dresses and...those big cleavages.

The thought of Grace in one of those...damn, the feather boa would only be the icing on the cake that killed him.

He didn't even need to close his eyes to see the image quite clearly.

She'd look spectacular; and he wouldn't be able to keep his hands off her.

"Boyd?"

"You'll look spectacular!" he blurted out, without thought or consideration for anything.

Silence hung between them, the chirps of a bird nearby cutting through the stillness. They stood before each other, only a few inches apart, with wide eyes and deep flushes covering their faces.

"What?" Grace breathed out.

 _'Fool! Adolescent halfwit!_ ,' he berated himself in ever faster and ever louder circles. He'd never wanted her to know, never wanted to just blurt it out like that. Staring at her, his embarrassment deepening - did men his age flush? - he remained quiet.

Grace took a minimal step closer, almost touching him now. "What did you say?"

It was getting serious. If he admitted to his words, then...

"You'll look incredible," he whispered, much quieter, but just as sincerely.

In response she smiled, shyly which wasn't at all like her, but she looked...like a young girl. Innocent, bashful... He leaned closer, anticipating the inevitable.

Her lips parted as she breathed out a "Thank you."

And then they were touching. Kissing. Without being interrupted.

* * *

 

The window provided a fairly good look over the entire lawn. It was a perfect viewpoint, everything visible while you wouldn't be seen.

The couple that was standing in the light of the sinking sun, kissing as if in the throes of puppy love, provided an almost perfect picture.

It was such a shame that no camera was at hand to capture this moment for eternity.

One could only hope that the CCTV-cameras would pick this up.

This was romance played out perfectly.

It promised to provide a fairly interesting add-on to the proceedings of the party, especially since one never knew what people did once they considered themselves alone and unobserved.

* * *

 

Holding hands was becoming second nature, natural as anything. It was good that they were, though, because he feared that if she didn't anchor him to the ground he'd fly.

Peter Boyd being so elated by a simple kiss that he thought he could fly. It was a ridiculous feeling, but for the moment he didn't care much. Looking at his companion, he smiled shyly, grateful to see her blushing bashfully as well.

At least he wasn't alone in this moment of adolescent romance in his...late middle age. Wholly unprofessional and far from sensible. Thank God nobody had seen them, otherwise it would be unmitigated hell for the rest of their professional lives.

However, Grace's smile widened, making her eyes sparkle. She looked like she'd laugh any second and he almost wished she would. He'd laugh right along with her. Grace could make him do the most unbelievable things.

"We're a pair," she said on a sigh and squeezed his hand.

"Of the finest kind."

"Hmm." Grace stopped and let her gaze sweep over the house for a moment. Her aura of contentment dissipated slowly and Boyd found himself mourning its disappearance.

"What is it?"

"I wonder how many sets of eyes have been on us just now. And how many cameras."

He hadn't thought of that, hadn't wanted to think of it. It was a private moment. Their moment.

His good mood evaporated quickly, leaving him even more frustrated than before. Just a moment ago he had secretly wondered what would happen between Grace and him, now that they had kissed and would spend another night in the same - admittedly giant - bed. The possibilities seemed endless...

"We have as good as established that Rockton has cameras hidden in our suite and he keeps alluding to our _happy marriage_."

"You wonder how far we have to go?"

She shrugged, but then looked him squarely in the eye. "How far would you go, Peter? The entire house seems to be gushing over our happy marriage, which they automatically equal to a sexually fulfilled relationship. And despite the fact that even sexually active couples don't have sex every night, Rockton might expect at least one example of just how happy we are."

"He can bloody well forget that!" Boyd exploded, his features drawn into an expression of anger.

"Can he?" Grace gave him an amused smile, which was belied by her sudden paleness and the fact that it didn't reach her eyes.

"I'm not some fucking porn star, performing on command! And case or not, even I have rights..."

"Yeah."

She dropped his hand as she nodded and gingerly moved towards the house. Her posture was a little slumped in defeat and Boyd wondered what had brought on the sudden change. Only minutes ago she had been joyful and content, happy tenderness radiating off of her and now.

"Oh hell, Grace!" It hit him suddenly, making him jog after her. "Grace!" Taking her hand, he pulled her to a stop. She was still pale, the light in her eyes dimmed.

"I screwed that one up, did I?"

"No." Grace shook her head. "You were right. None of us should be forced to go that far. It's prostitution and if there's one thing I promised myself when I started out it was that I would never use sex to keep my job or gain promotion," she said seriously.

"But I also dismissed the idea of having sex with you and...."

"It's okay, Boyd. I understand."

He squeezed her hand tightly as he shook his head. "No, you don't. It's the one moment, Grace, where you don't understand me at all." Cupping her cheeks in his palms he leaned forward and kissed her again.

* * *

 

The van parked at the back door of the estate. Quickly unloading their parcels, the delivery boys followed the butler inside the house.

They were led to the den where they spread their delivery out.

"Very well," Sir Miles said after a few minutes of perusing the costumes laid out. "I assume you have picked out the correct sizes?"

"Yes sir," the younger of the delivery boys replied. "We followed your instructions to the letter."

"Good." Sir Miles wasn't convinced yet, but dismissed them nonetheless. Perusing the costumes, still covered in plastic, he nodded a few times, deep in thought. "I am curious how our newest addition will influence the outcome of the party, Sparks. Mr. and Mrs. ...Parker... are such an interesting couple."

"It remains to be seen, Sir," came the butlers stately reply.

"Are they still out on the lawn?"

"I haven't heard otherwise, Sir."

Sir Miles picked up one of the outfits, a short rust coloured dress with silver trimmings. "What do you think of this dress for Mrs. Parker, Sparks?"

The butler nodded. "I am sure she will look good in it, Sir."

"Yes." Sir Miles was thoughtful. "I'm sure she will. And I'm sure Mr. Parker will appreciate it... very much."


	8. Chapter 8

Everywhere in the house, preparations were running. While the staff was busy in the kitchen and the dining room, rushing around to arrange everything for the dinner, the guests had returned to their suites to go about their usual ways of getting ready for an evening out.

Some of them were still busy figuring out their wardrobe, though.

Peter Boyd was among them.

It wasn't so much that he didn't know how to get into the clothes that had been delivered for him to wear. There wasn't much you could do wrong in donning a three-piece suit and a tie. Except for the vest, he wore a suit basically every day and until a few years ago, he had worn a tie as well. The pinstripe ensemble wasn't that much of a problem. Neither was the hat he was suggested to wear.

It was the shoes.

They didn't look uncomfortable. Good quality. The leather was pliant and well-worked. They would wear well, he was sure of it.

The problem he had was... They were spectators. Who the hell wore two-toned shoes? Even for a costume party this was pushing it.

He'd look like an idiot!

All of a sudden Grace's earlier complaints weren't so funny any more. When she had grumbled about the wardrobe they'd have to wear, he had laughed at her unease. Now, he could only hope she wouldn't laugh at him in return.

In a way Boyd hoped for it. It would ease the tension and at this point he was willing to be laughed at, if that made things easier between them. Despite their kisses on the lawn, he felt he hadn't completely convinced her that his displeasure with the idea of having sex in the bed he was eyeing now had all to do with the situation and not the potential partner. In fact....

Now that the issue was well and clearly on the table, he found he could think of little else.

Their kisses outside had thrown professional distance truly out of the proverbial window and now he wasn't sure how to deal. He was moving on very thin ice, one false step and a row of epic proportions would be the least of his worries. Grace was one of his only, actually, his _only_ friend and the last thing he wanted was to risk their relationship as such.

Before it hadn't bothered him much to mix business with pleasure, friendship with sex, but this time there was a little more at stake. There was a reason why they hadn't called each other on their flirting despite the many years it had already gone on, a rare show of sensitivity in his case.

Grace had sent him to shower so she could have the scrumptious bathroom for herself afterwards, claiming that it would take time to make her presentable enough. Considering how quick she had been in the morning, he knew it to be a lie. In truth, she wanted some time alone, just as much as he needed it. He could only hope that there wouldn't be cameras in the bathroom, otherwise....

....He wouldn't guarantee for anything.

Running his hands through his hair repeatedly to somehow ease the nervous tension in his stomach, Boyd started to pace.

* * *

 

She stared at her reflection in the mirror and wondered if she would really dare to leave this room. At the moment she couldn't imagine it. Hiding out in here indefinitely sounded tempting. Smoothing her hands down her sides, she tried to push the dress further down her legs, then pulled at the hem for the same reason.

A frustrated sigh accompanied the realization that no amount of pushing or pulling would make the dress any longer. The fringes were of no help either. They only claimed to give the skirt its period length, but flapping with every step...and she didn't even think about sitting down. To make matters worse, pulling the dress down meant that in its upper part, the dress slipped lower and that meant that even more of her breasts would be visible. The cleavage was already bordering on indecent and she wasn't twenty any more.

Seeing herself in the mirror also reminded her that she didn't frequent the gym as often as she should, needed more spa treatments, and generally just made her miserable. How she was supposed to go out, in this get-up, and get through the evening without dying of mortification, she didn't know. The stupid comments of the other guests were one thing, what she feared was Boyd's raised eyebrows. An unprofessional thought and idiotically vain, but she had hoped....

Maybe she shouldn't take things so personally. Nothing that happened here. A weekend in the country under extraneous circumstances. What did a few kisses matter? Or the imagery of them on the huge bed outside?

In the grand scheme of things, not much.

"Grace?" Boyd's impatient voice sounded outside the door. "Are you okay? Or did you drown in the tub?"

"That's not funny, Boyd!" She sounded a little more harsh than she needed to be, but she had just caught another glimpse of herself in the mirror and realized that the hair do that had been suggested, made her wrinkles and lines even more prominent. Fantastic, just fantastic.

Eyeing the glittery head band and the silvery feather boa, Grace heaved a sigh. It could only get worse.

* * *

 

Outside the door, Boyd was still pacing. He hated waiting, though if he were honest, she hadn't taken that long yet and it was still almost 20 minutes until dinner. He was simply antsy about the entire affair, didn't even want to attend the dinner really. The suit was comfortable, even the bloody shoes, and if he were honest, his reflection in the mirror didn't look half-bad. With the fedora placed smartly on his head, he'd even say he looked damn good.

He could only hope Grace thought so too and didn't burst out laughing as soon as she saw him.

"You okay in there?" he asked again, wondering if she felt as ridiculous as he did. He hadn't been able to really catch a glimpse of her outfit, only heard her groan once. So maybe.... The thought made him smile and his blood pulse just that little bit faster. Maybe there was a feather boa too?

"Yeah," came the muffled reply.

"What are you doing in there for so long?"

"I'm making...." She wanted to continue by saying 'myself presentable' but stopped short. What an inane thing to say that would be. "Don't be so impatient!" she yelled instead, only to go on in a much lower voice, "I'm not a spring chicken any more."

With the mascara applied and the lipstick ready to go, she realized that she didn't have much more reason to hide. Outside she could hear Boyd pacing, his impatience having him probably close to explosion. She had seen the suit and the hat box, assumed that he'd probably look conspicuously like Sam Marlowe, which would be a very ambivalent thing.

He'd look drop dead handsome in that outfit and she could be so weak.

Eyeing the headband with disdain, she shook her head. She had styled her hair the way it was suggested in the pictures delivered and on second thought had to admit, at least that worked out well.

When finally everything was in place, Grace gave herself one last appraising look in the full-length mirror on the inside of the door. She didn't look much like herself, but.... The longer she looked, the more she thought there was just this bit of something to her appearance. Just this little bit.

"Grace!" At this point, Boyd was really getting impatient. They had less than fifteen minutes to show up and while he didn't want to be early, he didn't want to be late either and thus become the centre of scrutiny again. "Are you finally ready?"

"Oh, don't get your whities in a twist," she grumbled as she flung the bathroom door open, trying to lengthen her skirt one last time. "Bloody thing," she mumbled under her breath.

The room was eerily silent and Grace looked up to see what was causing Boyd to be like this. Normally he would have an acerbic comment at the ready, for him not to say a word was...strange.

When she saw him, she had to swallow. Hard. The blush crept hotly into her cheeks and her cleavage. This was all kinds of wrong. He was all kinds of...handsome. The suit, the shadows on his face caused by the angle of his fedora. He looked dark and mysterious, with that hint of the bad guy that she had always found attractive in men. Live dangerously or not live at all.

 _'Just great, Grace,_ ' she scolded herself, _'fall right back into teenage antics. Right down to the butterfly concert in your stomach.'_

"Boyd?" she croaked out after a long minute of silence.

"Oh shit!"

There was at least another minute of tense silence, then Grace raised an eyebrow. "I'll just take that as a compliment, okay? For the sake of you actually being allowed into that bed back there."

"Grace, I...."

"It's alright, Boyd," she interrupted with a bright smile, though he could see that it was a little forced. "I know how this," she gestured down herself derisively, "looks."

"You look so fucking..." He took a deep breath to get past the lump in his throat and another reaction that could quickly become embarrassing. "Get a bloody coat!"

"What?" She considered herself a smart woman, but this rapid change of thought confused her.

"You are not going out like this!"

"Pardon?" Grace's confusion grew. "This is my costume. It's a party outfit from the period. You know that better than I do." Shaking her head, she started for the bed to pick up the suggested handbag from another box sitting there. "You are the history expert."

She didn't get very far. In fact, she didn't get past Boyd as he gripped her arm and hauled her body close to his. "You are not leaving the room dressed like this," he choked out through clenched teeth.

Grace could smell his cologne and feel the heat of his body through the thin layer of her dress, doing a number on her somewhat frazzled self-control. The look in his eyes....

"Why ever not?" she asked defiantly to cover up the wild pounding of her heart.

"I'd have to beat up all those idiots downstairs for oggling you indecently."

Her head shot around a little, to look at him fully. Seeing the emotions churning in his face, she lowered her lashes with a bashful half-smile.

"Holy shit, Grace, the things you do...." It was worse than he had expected. The dress was tight and low cut, showing off her curves and providing the expected incredible amount not only of cleavage, but of leg as well. The feather boa dangled seductively around her shoulders, falling to bring out the most enticing attributes of the dress and the woman inside it.

No woman that age should be allowed to look like this in that dress.

He was in deep trouble. There was an entire evening of mind numbing conversation ahead and all he could think of was to run his hands along her silhouette to feel the curves he saw.

"Do what?" she replied on a breath, her pupils dilating, turning her blue eyes almost black with intensity.

He didn't answer. Instead, he pulled her into his arms, his mouth upon hers before she could protest.

They groaned simultaneously into each other's mouth. The slowly simmering heat between them exploded white hot as their tongues danced and duelled, greedy for more. His hands smoothed down her back, up and down her spine, while hers brushed over his arms. Grace moaned as his hands slipped lower, cupping her bottom and pulling her tight against him. She could feel his arousal and instinctively nuzzled deeper into his embrace. As his knee nudged hers open to settle in between, she reciprocated without thought.

Their bodies, now flush against the other's, rubbed and undulated, still restrained, but the message to each other was clear.

"Grace," Boyd groaned into their kiss, one hand moving up to the back of her head to deepen their kiss even more. She played with the hair at the nape of his neck, scraped her fingernails over his whiskers, sending shivers through him and herself.

Arousal was pooling hotly in her stomach and lower, quickly pushing rational thought aside. All she did was taste, smell, feel. Boyd's kiss. How he nuzzled along her jaw, down her throat, his lips and tongue coming into play and lighting fires all over her skin.

"Boyd," she breathed, grounding against him.

He pulled back a little, wanting to look at her face, see her eyes dark and intense. She was breathing heavily, just as he was, their bodies fighting for or against control, he wasn't sure. Her hands rose to cup his face, her thumbs playing over his cheeks and then his mouth. He groaned and leaned into the touch.

Looking at him, she found it shockingly erotic to see her lipstick all over his mouth. She somehow expected to look similar, both showing how thoroughly they had been going at it.

The corners of his mouth twitched into a slight smile, before kissing her thumbs. Their eyes connected, speaking volumes while her thumbs continued to absently caress his lips and he continued to kiss them.

Time was suspended for moments or minutes as they were standing there, almost one body.

In the end, it was Grace who slowly broke their embrace by letting her hands sink. In the process, her eyes dimmed a little, a feeling Boyd understood only too well.

Another place. Time on their hands. Alone.

"We should go before they come breaking down the door in search for us," he said quietly.

Grace nodded mutely, then pulled the kerchief out of his breast pocket and wiped her lipstick from his face. "I'll be just a minute," she promised equally as quiet.

Boyd stood there in the room that suddenly seemed a whole lot bigger and a whole lot more forlorn.

Another place. Another situation.

True to her word, she was back right away, nothing indicating what had just happened.

As he offered Grace his arm, Boyd looked around the room searchingly.

"What is it?" she asked carefully. "What are you looking for?"

"That coat! If you aren't covered up, I'll be beating somebody up tonight. And that...is a fact."


	9. Chapter 9

Dinner started out inconspicuously enough, with all of them settled around the large dining table. It looked a little odd, the women with hats and hair pieces while the men kept their hats nearby. Almost involuntarily, Grace wondered how many of them were carrying a weapon holder underneath their suit jackets.

It would be fitting on one hand and disconcerting on the other, since she knew for a fact that Boyd was _not_ carrying one. The thought made her look and search for his eyes. As soon as they connected, however, it drove a blush back into her cheeks, remembering what they had done less than an hour ago.

Naturally they had been late, which had, naturally, led to suggestively raised eyebrows. Boyd had put on his best glare, an impressive thing to begin with, which kept most of the guests silent. Sir Miles, however, was a completely different matter, and he either didn't see or just ignored Boyd's behaviour.

With a conspiring smile, he had leaned into their personal space, which had made Boyd pull her more securely against him, and expressed his hope that they would enjoy the dinner as much as they had their earlier activities.

Through their physical closeness, Grace could feel Boyd tense, rage surging up in him, and she had squeezed his hand in order to calm him down. If they lost their cool, they'd be on the losing end.

It was all about control, what happened tonight. The tableau in front of her was as much part of a play as their outfits were the costumes. They were actors who'd receive their keys as it went. Sir Miles would make up things on the go, took his pleasure from throwing them off.

His constant insinuations were no more than a diversion, just like Mia the maid. It was all a set up to extract a reaction from Boyd, if possible an aggressive one. Why, however, she wasn't completely sure.

Of course, there was still this nagging feeling from a week ago. And it grew stronger as time went on.

Shaking her head a little to push the thoughts away, she looked at Boyd again and found him smiling. It was natural to smile back, warmth permeating the connection. Refusing on principle to think of the ramifications of this weekend, Grace just leaned back with her glass of wine and kept smiling at Boyd. Strangely, it was a little like holding an entire conversation without saying anything.

Nothing new, really.

"I'm so glad that your health and your mood has improved so dramatically since this afternoon. I was a little worried, dearest Grace."

Starting, she turned to their host and pasted a different, less open smile onto her face. "Thank you, but there really was no need. It was just...I guess an exhausting week catching up with me."

"Good. I'd be really disappointed for you, if you hadn't been able to enjoy the entertainment tonight."

"Why?" Grace laughed. "Don't tell me you are bringing in a live-band for dancing, Miles. Charleston has never been my best dance."

"But you can do it?"

"Heaven's, no! I'd never even attempt something that leaves me out of breath within seconds."

"Nothing, Grace?" Sir Miles murmured confidentially.

Grace's eyes narrowed and even across the table, she could feel Boyd stiffen. "I've never been one for sporty dances, Miles," she replied guardedly.

Her expression and Boyd's body language seemed to give away enough, though, as Sir Miles pulled back and raised his hands apologetically. "No offence, of course."

"Of course not."

The atmosphere remained rigid for a few moments, before Annabelle chimed in, "If it isn't dancing you offer, Miles, and the crime has fallen flat, what are you actually offering? I hope it's not a game of Whist or something equally boring."

"Annabelle, Annabelle, you are even more of a doubter than I remembered. How many of my parties have you attended?" He paused for a moment to laugh. "And at how many have you really been bored?"

Despite the fact that the last words were delivered with a laugh, for the first time both Boyd and Grace could detect an unpleasant edge to their host's behaviour. So far he had, at least outwardly, been all ease and friendliness, overly eager to please his guests. In this moment, however, it became clear that almost all of them were on his payroll and that Rockton intended to use the fact in his own favour.

Making eye contact, they both drew a breath while communicating their thoughts. With a bit more alcohol in play, the evening could turn ugly very quickly.

"We could always play a game of a charades." Arthur sounded a bit disinterested in his own suggestion while he studied his fingernails closely. "Or have a bit of music over in the music room."

"Over my dead body!" Marlena screeched. "Don't let him anywhere near an instrument! He'll kill it! And my eardrums!"

"There, there," Evan interrupted. "Don't beat each other up over dinner, darlings. I'm sure Miles has it all planned out."

There was a pause in which visual daggers were thrown around the table, but after a few moments things calmed down a little.

"I do indeed, darling. I do indeed," Sir Miles insisted.

* * *

 

After dinner they retired to the lounge where drinks were passed around once more. Again, both Boyd and Grace kept their intake level low, which led to a bit of teasing from the other guests. It seemed as if their behaviour was really a source of amusement. It galled Boyd, but he was beginning to realize that the more closely they kept their cards to their chests, the better it would be.

Both of them nursing a glass of red wine, they had moved to a corner to hold a whispered conversation. Hints and deductions were turning in circles, though, as long as the twist was still unknown. It was possible that the twist meant nothing, but until it happened... With their costumes stemming from the times of the 1920s, the options for a typical crime seemed a little limited, but they couldn't be sure of it.

Eyeing the rest of the party across the room, Boyd shook his head and whispered, "What wouldn't I give for being home on the sofa and watching footie right now."

"Me too." Grace sighed.

"On my couch?"

Blushing a little, Grace gave him a small grin, noting with satisfaction that his words weren't just a smug quip.

"We'd fight over which team is better."

"Nobody would watch us having fun when we come to an agreement."

"And then?" Grace lowered her voice so that it came out as a throaty whisper rushing through their bloodstream.

"Boyd, I've barely been able to talk to you all day, and I am so curious, because your dear wife mentioned that you are the history expert. I'm sure you can answer me a few questions." This time it wasn't Annabelle but Marlena who rudely interrupted and hung herself onto Boyd's arm. Even though he resisted, she pulled him away to the other side of the room and started to talk about some sort of tapestry.

Having been pushed aside so insolently once again, Grace narrowed her eyes, but didn't have much time to contemplate revenge as Sebastian sailed towards her and pulled her over to a group of the men. They were basically falling all over each other in their compliments on her appearance and if she had given one moment to actually believe them, Grace would have been very flattered.

As it was, however, in her mind she had already received all the flattery she wanted and therefore wasn't overly impressed. Still, keeping a polite smile and within minutes a laugh at the outrageous compliments, the time began to pass much more quickly.

Across the lounge she could see Boyd becoming more and more agitated as Marlena and then Annabelle were getting more and more on his nerves, but he seemed to soldier on, throwing her a pained smile. At least, it was a smile and she began to relax.

Until all hell broke loose.

* * *

 

The door to the lounge was thrown open with a bang, forcing all the guests to shoot around and stare at it in shock. For a moment, all Boyd wanted to do was to laugh, but the urge didn't last long.

In the door frame was a group of four people. Three men and a woman, all dressed in period style suits and hats, just like the guests were. They all held guns in their hands and from that distance, there was no telling whether they were fake or very real.

"Nobody move!" the woman snarled, making it clear that she was the leader of the pack. "Anybody move or talk back and I'll send him to meet his maker."

She swaggered further into the room, the three men following closely behind.

It looked a little ridiculous from his point of view, but apparently from the other end of the room it looked even worse, leading to Arthur snicker.

The strange woman marched towards the sound, her pistol trained on the entire group, and Boyd felt his heart drop. Though he could see Grace being calm still, he didn't like the idea of her looking down a gun barrel one bit.

"Think you're being funny, Mister?" the intruder snarled again, building herself up in front of Arthur. Though she was quite a bit shorter than he was, it didn't look like it at all. Determination to push her will through radiated off of her, and even though he could not imagine that this was supposed to be a real ambush, Boyd considered it a good idea to not provoke a reaction.

Grace seemed to agree with that, for she placed her hand on Arthur's arm and shook her head in warning.

The man didn't heed to the warning, however, and kept grinning broadly. Their new 'guest' tensed and in a quick move trained her gun directly on Arthur's forehead. "A regular clown then," she noted sarcastically. "Wants to find out how it feels with a hole in his skull." Turning around, the woman looked at her three companions, who had quietly spread around the room and were now pointing their own guns at people.

"Looks to me as if he'd have wind blowing through his empty head when the bullet's gone through," the woman snickered and the men returned it.

The next moment a shot whipped through the air, followed by shocked screams. Boyd leaped from his spot, desperate to get across the room, shield Grace from the shot, even though he knew it would be too late. Squeezing his eyes shut to gather his wits about him again, he felt a gun poking into his chest, stopping him from any further movement.

"Going somewhere?" one of the ambushers asked him almost pleasantly.

He shook his head, shoulders slumping a bit.

"Have I made myself clear now?" the woman snarled again.

There was no verbal reply, only whimpering in the otherwise silent room.

Desperate to see the scene he feared to see just as much, Boyd opened his eyes again and almost sagged with relief.

The strong smell of gunpowder was in the air and its slight dust flurried down, but the group next to the fireplace was still complete, though Arthur was pressed against the wall, shaking in his shoes and white as chalk. The other men, so cocky beforehand, were huddled close to him, all of them trying to get as far away from the gun as possible. The only one still standing in the same spot was Grace.

She eyed the woman before her with clinical interest and Boyd could almost see her cataloguing events and behaviour patterns in her mind. It was so normal and so absurd at the same time that he barely held a laugh in.

The gun, still poking in his chest, stopped his forward momentum, and from what he could see from this distance, the bullets were at least real enough to blow holes into the wall. It didn't bode well, should the young man here decide to use his gun on Boyd's chest.

"Good." The leader of the group seemed satisfied with the way she had gotten her point across and began to slowly walk around the room. She stopped in front of each member of the party, eyeing him or her closely. The jewellery of the female guests seemed to catch her interest, but none was deemed agreeable. Stopping in front of Boyd, she pushed her 'colleague' away to get as close as possible.

Boyd could feel her body heat through the layers of their clothing. He kept his expression neutral though and looked her square in the eye. The staring contest lasted for a minute or so, until the woman gave up and moved on. A quick gesture with her head, though, called her companion and especially his gun back to Boyd.

From there the woman moved back to the other side of the room, directly towards Grace. They didn't even need the eye contact to communicate, but both Boyd and Grace knew that the move was deliberate. It was just another part of the special interest that had been paid to them all weekend.

As the woman began to round Grace in ever closer circles, Boyd felt his tension growing. If that woman touched her....

"Archie...." At the bellowed command, another of the men closed in on Grace.

The woman, now standing directly behind Grace, brushed her gun over her shoulder and arms. Then she smiled. "Archie? What do you think?"

Archie grinned.


	10. Chapter 10

From his point of view, the situation could best be described as shit. There was absolutely nothing positive about it, unless you counted the fact that he was still breathing. If that was the extent of positive then he felt the right to curse whoever could be blamed for this disaster. He was willing to put it on anybody who couldn't run fast enough.

From his point of view, this wouldn't just blow over without him beating somebody up and damn the consequences.

From a professional's point of view, the ambush had been carried out very amateur-like: no backups, no masks, no voice distortion, and a good deal of finger prints and other forensics. In a film, he'd laugh about the lack of professionalism. In reality, he found himself lying on some hardwood floor with his legs and arms bound and a gag in his mouth. And as old-fashioned as ropes might be for tying up, at this point they were damned effective.

At least these blasted idiots hadn't blindfolded him.

Still, he didn't see much, lying on his stomach with his arms pulled back uncomfortably and tied up tightly. In addition, his headache was trying to win a contest.

So, from Peter Boyd's point of view, the situation was horrendous. Big time.

He guessed that one should be grateful for small favours and that their attackers apparently hadn't planned on doing any more than ambushing the party, but at the moment he could not at all say that he was.

And he hadn't seen Grace...

It was, of course, a stupid act on his part to explode all over their attackers as they had closed in on Grace. That woman leader and Archie. Seeing them get close and possibly touch her - he wasn't sure they had actually done so - made him see red. Anybody intending to hurt Grace was automatically on his shitlist and the way this had gone, his shitlist had exploded and he didn't think any more.

Instinct had taken over and he rammed his fist into the man standing next to him, his groan of pain music to his ears and the clatter of a falling gun a welcome addition. A mighty roar rising in his throat, he had pushed forward to the other side of the room, seeing nothing but Grace's wide eyes and the hands closing in on her and then...

There was a fist in his gut and something hard and edgy against his skull, and the world became dark.

When he woke up, Boyd found himself in his current predicament and though the pounding headache was slowly receding, the situation wasn't getting any better.

Twisting in his binds, he felt them moving, but not enough to shrug them off easily. Knot-tying was apparently a skill you had when you started a criminal career and specialized in period style ambushes. Before all this had happened, he could have sworn it was all an act, Sir Miles' insane idea of a good party, but there was a bullet hole in the wall and he could feel dried blood flake off his cheek, and it wasn't funny any more.

In fact, it never was.

If they had taken Grace...

* * *

 

She didn't like the fact that she couldn't see much. The room she was in was dark, the blindfold over her eyes adding to the uneasy feeling. At least the room she was in was stationary, which meant that their attackers did not plan on removing anybody from the estate. At least, she thought so.

Her mind was whirling with confusion over the events of the evening and since Boyd had gone down unconscious, she hadn't been able to focus any more. The moment Boyd had sprung onto the armed man next to him, Grace had known it would end badly. Before her mind's eye, a knife had flashed in blue light and she had to force herself not to scream.

It didn't happen like that, she knew, but everything was just a whirl.

Her hands were bound behind her back, her feet were tied up as well, the ropes chafing through her nylons. There was a gag in her mouth and a blindfold over her eyes.

All in all, Grace assessed the situation as rather bleak.

* * *

 

There was another human breathing in the near vicinity. Heavily, as if he or she had something that obstructed their breathing. Crawling closer to the sounds was difficult, but he achieved it, after what felt like an eternity. Turning his head was exhausting after the physical extortion and Boyd was almost disappointed to distinguish something like a suit in the dim light.

No Grace.

The suit was a beige pin stripe, easily identifying its wearer as Evan, who turned his head as he noticed another person close by. He was bound and gagged as well.

The short communication went surprisingly well, both men quickly establishing that the ropes might be the ticket to freedom. Evan's binds came with a fairly long overhang and if Boyd knew anything about knots, it was that they were usually supposed to hold tight, but be easily pulled open as well.

It took quite a bit of manoeuvring, inward cursing at the stiffness that came with growing age and unease at being in such physical contact with Evan, but somehow they managed to get the end of the rope into Boyd's hand.

Falling forward like a sack, Boyd hoped that the momentum would be enough to loosen the knot. As he fell, he groaned, feeling the joints in his body crack mightily. Old age really was a bitch.

Still, the rope gave and so he pulled again.

It must have looked hilarious and with his headache growing again, he wasn't in the mood to deal with any teasing, now or later, but at long last, he could feel the rope falling off limply, announcing their success.

Barely a minute later, Evan loosened his own binds, and as much as the circulation stung, the feeling of relief drowned it out. It was there and then that Boyd decided that bondage was definitely out of the question for the time being. Maybe.

Once rid of their binds, the two men looked at each other for a short moment, during which it became clear to Boyd that Evan had not been in on this joke, should it have been one. In fact, the man had lost most of his exaltation; sobriety and a bit of annoyance now showing in his features.

"What do we do?" Evan asked in a quiet voice.

Boyd shrugged and winced, the pain behind his eyes becoming stronger. "Find the others," he whispered finally, "and then find out what this was all about."

The other man nodded slowly, then turned at the sound of somebody screaming through a gag.

Boyd felt his heart lurch in hope. Maybe that was Grace?

* * *

 

It turned out that the sound had not come from Grace. In fact, it wasn't a female voice at all. A quick check around the room brought the result that only male guests of the party were in this room.

The women and the host, all of them were gone.

The realization multiplied Boyd's headache exponentially, but also gave way to a knot of fear forming in his stomach. If something had happened to Grace on his watch... How would he go on?

"Where are the women?" he asked hoarsely while they were untying the other men. Under different circumstances, he would have left the gags, but for once, those men had to speak. Unfortunately, they didn't have an answer.

"They led them out that door once they had us tied up," Sebastian said, sounding meek and shaken.

"There were five of you and Rockton too!" Boyd shouted, the unease beginning to explode in his mind. "How can they tie up five men and then run off with four other people? There were only four of them!"

"Yeah," Arthur replied, with an annoyed sneer, "but none of us is a hero. We didn't want to end up dying here while bleeding all over the carpet like some people."

Boyd's eyes narrowed, his body tensing for a pounce.

"Gentlemen," Evan stepped in with a calm smile. "It won't help the ladies or our host if you beat each other up."

"He makes it sound like it would be a fair fight," Sebastian sniggered sotto voce.

"I'll beat you up any time, you know!"

"Gentlemen," Evan tried again, noting that Boyd had stepped back from the group, examining the room. "Boyd?"

The man didn't answer, standing before the fireplace and staring into the distance. This had been the place where...

"They can't have gone far. A group like that..."

"Did they say anything that would point to where they planned on going?"

"No."

Boyd nodded, staring at the fireplace some more.

"If we had a mobile phone it would be much easier..." Sebastian's partner slowly sank down onto a sofa.

"Whom would you call? The women don't have mobiles either."

"Let's search the house. The staff must have seen them arriving and leaving..."

"It's strange that nobody rushed in when the shot was fired..."

"Evan, Ian, you're with me. We'll take the downstairs. Arthur, Sebastian, Ken, you take the bedroom suites upstairs." Once again in charge, Boyd didn't wait to see whether the other men followed his orders and stormed out of the lounge.

* * *

 

Interviewing the kitchen staff didn't bring much information. They were tripping all over themselves to help the very nice Mr. Parker who was so clearly distressed by the kidnapping of his beloved wife and the sympathetic looks were aplenty. But Boyd couldn't shake the feeling that they were holding back. Their sympathy might be real, their lack of knowledge not so much.

With his frustration growing, he left the kitchen again and leant next to the door in the hallway.

In his many years in the force, he had heard and seen all kinds of witnesses and though, of course, there was always the odd one who managed to overhear a gun shot, a dozen people in the same place not hearing it was virtually impossible. In addition, somebody had to have opened the door for their attackers.

There was something very fishy about the entire thing, but Grace was missing and therefore there was no room for mistakes. Every minute he tapped in the dark, there was a chance for their attackers to get further away. Every moment he remained inactive, the danger Grace could be in would grow.

If only they had refused this weekend. If only his very personal interest in his colleague hadn't gotten in the way of professionalism. If only...she was here and told him whether this ambush was a shitty party gag or not. If only she was safe.

"I found nothing, Boyd," Evan came rushing towards him from the right side of the hallway, while Ian walked closer from the right side. "I didn't find anybody either."

Boyd made a frustrated noise in his throat and rubbed his hand over his neck. "Okay," he started after a while, "It's now just after 1am. We finished dinner only after 11. So, the ambush happened later than 11.30."

"It was shortly after midnight when they marched in," Sebastian, who had come down the stairs, again offered. "I could see the grandfather's clock well from my spot."

"How long was I out?"

"Twenty minutes, maybe."

"So, all they have would be a head start of five, ten minutes at the max."

"Yes," the other men chorused.

Boyd nodded. "What about tyre tracks?"

"It's too dark. I couldn't see much."

Once again, Boyd nodded. For a moment silence reigned, then he asked, "Where does Sir Miles tend to spend his time when he isn't with his guests?"

"Miles is a very sociable person," Arthur, who had joined them, threw in pompously.

"I noticed," Boyd's hackles rose. "But even he must have a place in this house where he withdraws to."

"There was nobody in his bedroom suite."

"Anywhere else?"

"He's got a private study, of course," Evan ventured, earning himself a few glares from Arthur and Sebastian as well.

"Where?"

"It's down this hallway, towards the west wing where construction has finished recently. He kept saying that it wasn't completely finished yet and that's why he couldn't show it to us."

"Okay, thanks." For the first time in their acquaintance, Boyd gave Evan a genuine smile.

Ignoring the glares of most of the others, he motioned for both Evan and Ian to follow.

* * *

 

She wouldn't have admitted it to anybody, but the complete darkness was slowly getting to her. To a point, she had considered blindfolds fun in the past and wouldn't have minded them in the future either, but this had not been what she had in mind.

She could neither see or really feel. She couldn't move and she couldn't even scream.

In a way it was worse than her experience with Charles Hoyle back then, when she had all her senses with her. Back then she had been able to look her fate in the eye, but now...

Grace didn't like the turn this weekend had taken and the longer this took the more fear was creeping up on her. Their trip to this room had taken many steps, some up stairs and some down stairs again, but how long had it really been? For all she knew, she could once again be in the lounge, maybe next to Boyd's corpse. She had seen him go down unconscious, but what had happened since then? And how much time had passed?

There were noises in the room she was in, but with nothing to keep her oriented, she couldn't be sure it wasn't her mind playing tricks on her.

There was also something else. The longer she sat here, the longer it took for somebody to start looking for her, the smaller was the chance to find enough hints to find her. If Boyd was still out for the count... If he was hurt... It was Saturday night. Nobody expected them back before Monday. Nobody would look for them before Tuesday...

Trying the stem the wave of panic Grace thought back to earlier in the evening, but it didn't help. Thinking of their kisses...

Suddenly, there was a noise. Whispers. But she couldn't be sure they were really there.

Then there was a hollow thud. This one definitely real.

Then another.

And then there was a crash. And objects flying around the room, one of them sharply grazing her arm.

Not knowing what to make of it, Grace did the best she could.

She tried to duck.

* * *

 

"This is it?" Boyd stood before the double wooden doors.

"Yeah. Miles' private sanctuary. He never lets anybody inside."

"Why not? If you are business partners..."

"He's got an official study in the front where he does his business talks. This is just his private thing." Ian explained. "Oddly enough, Miles is somewhat anal about his privacy."

"But not about giving his guests the same courtesy," Boyd muttered to himself, but Evan and Ian nodded slightly.

"Okay." Boyd tried the door handle which didn't give.

"It's locked," Arthur unnecessarily stated.

"Oh really?" was Boyd's sarcastic comment. "We'll have to get in otherwise then, I guess."

"How?"

Not sure whether he should clobber the little idiot first or save it for later, Boyd gave Arthur a glare.

"Like so," he announced and threw himself against the - unfortunately - solid wood.

"Not so easy, Mr. Superhero, huh?"

"Gentlemen," Sebastian stopped the ensuing fight, at once realizing that Arthur might not the best alliance he could have at this point. "Maybe we should find some tools?"

"I think I've already found one," Boyd growled, his gaze firmly set in Arthur's direction.

The man seemed to shrivel before his eyes and even whimpered as Boyd made a determined step towards him.

"Out of my way!"


	11. Chapter 11

The room was dark to a point, with no bright lights on as such. However, there were blinking blue, red and green lights from the machinery placed all over the room. There was also flickering blue that cast odd shadows over the room.

The atmosphere was gloomy and Boyd felt his stomach clench as he carefully manoeuvred the darkness. He could see shards and splinters from what was left of the door, felt a few crunch beneath his shoes.

On first sight, he hadn't seen anybody in this room, but that didn't have to mean anything because it was difficult to actually make out anything in the bluish glow over the darkness. Besides, his gaze was riveted to the screens, in disbelief that their comments, which to a degree he had still seen as a joke, were now so close to the mark.

One wall was taken up by at least a dozen screens that displayed the footage from apparently a vast number of CCTV-cameras. Boyd almost didn't want to know, but the image came before he had a choice. There was at least one camera filming the huge bed in the suite he shared with Grace. Facing the whole length of the bed from apparently the ceiling, it came with a zoom. Not at all something that made him comfortable.

Anger burned hotly in his gut as before his mind's eye scenes played and replayed. Him covertly staring at Grace as she moved about to get ready. Him half-naked while he changed clothes. Them kissing, groping even, just a few hours earlier. All of it burned onto film, ready to be used by anybody who wished to.

"Good God!" Next to him Ian gasped and shook his head. Boyd turned slightly, eyeing the other man.

"You didn't know about this?"

Ian shook his head. "I'm not that deep in the inner circle. And I'm not sure Miles does actually share this with anybody. Sheds a very different light on everything."

"Yeah. His comments too."

"About?" Ian asked curiously while he still stared at the screens as well.

"Oh my God!"

From the other side of the room, Evan's exclamation sounded over the din of the machinery.

"What is it?" Boyd yelled, his attention suddenly drawn back to the problem at hand, which was definitely not their host's invasive voyeurism.

"It's Marlena, and Annabelle is in the corner over there, I think."

"And Grace?" The question sounded forceful, but the tremor was quite audible.

"I don't..."

Boyd rushed over to the spot where he heard Evan from. "Put on some light!" he yelled. "Turn on the light, damn it!"

As the overhead light came on, a collective groan resounded in the room, the sudden brightness pricking in their eyes. The debris of their forceful entrance looked nasty, partially stuck in the furniture and spread out all over the floor. But even with the additional light, behind the sofa on the left side of the door, there were only Marlena and Annabelle, both of them screaming through their gags. Making fast work of the bonds the two women were held in, Boyd didn't wait long for Marlena to recover.

"Where's Grace?" he asked urgently again, almost shaking the woman on the floor.

Marlena shrugged. "Kept us blindfolded," she rasped. "Could be anywhere." Then she fell back against the back of the sofa, closing her eyes in exhaustion.

Boyd, on the other hand, felt his heart begin to pound in his chest and the bile rise in his throat. The interest in Grace... If they had separated the women... Taken Grace with them... Closing his eyes briefly, he didn't want to imagine any further.

"Grace..." he groaned, covering his eyes with one hand and rubbing in frustration.

The room was silent for a moment, everybody silently contemplating the meaning of the situation.

Then suddenly, Annabelle screamed.

* * *

 

As the shard of whatever it was grazed her arm sharply, she screamed through her gag. Less from pain than from shock and fear. She wouldn't admit it readily, but the entire situation frightened her. Despite the darkness, she could feel lights dancing over her blindfold, but she was no longer sure it was real or a result of her becoming light-headed and drifting towards unconsciousness.

The sounds she picked up over the constant din were violent, as if somebody was using a great deal of force on something. As more pieces flew around her and pricked her legs and arms, Grace tried to make herself as small as possible. With her arms and legs bound the way they were it wasn't a very successful thing, so she pushed herself against the sofa that seemed to be next to her. It couldn't have been too big, because it gave way despite the little punch she could put in. There was a slight scraping noise and she slowly sunk sideways with the moving sofa.

However, all of a sudden, her movement seemed to stop and she screamed into her gag as she felt the floor disappear beneath her.

* * *

 

The room was in an upheaval after Annabelle's scream, her released hand pointing towards another sofa. Following the line of pointing, Boyd momentarily believed his heart would be coming out through his mouth. There was a scrap of fabric. Rust-coloured with silvery trimming.

Slowly, as if fast movements would destroy the small chance of finding her, Boyd moved towards the scrap of Grace's dress. It was one of the fringes.

Kneeling down, he ignored the cracking of his joints, fully intent on picking up the fabric. Despite the distance, he could have sworn he could smell her perfume.

The thoughts tumbled over each other in his mind, creating a mess he couldn't find his way through.

Grace had been in this room, but where was she now? Why had she lost a piece of her dress? Why...?

A glint caught his eye, pulling his interest towards the bottom of the sofa. There was something underneath it... Not thinking any further, Boyd called for assistance and started pushing the sofa away.

It was surprisingly little of an effort, the piece of furniture only looking heavy, so the momentum carried quite a bit in an instant.

What was beneath it made Boyd gasp and his legs buckle. He sat down heavily and stared at the sight ahead of him. For minutes the world outside didn't exist. All he could focus on was the sight before him.

There was a hollow in the floor, just a few inches deep. In that hollow lay a person. Bound and gagged.

And even if that person's clothes hadn't been a dead giveaway, Boyd would have known.

Frozen in the moment, he kept staring until an urgent grunt pushed him into action. Even though he tried to be fast, his touch was gentle as he pulled off the blindfold first, then untied the gag.

"Thought you could keep me silent while you stared?" Grace commented glibly, trying to hide the relief that was quickly replacing the fear, making her weak.

Boyd pulled back in surprise, still staring.

"Boyd?" Grace asked impatiently, holding her bound hands up.

He moved closer mechanically and took off the ropes around her wrists and then turned to untie her feet as well. That done, he was about to pull back but didn't get the chance, because he suddenly found himself with an arm full of woman, who held onto him tightly as if afraid he'd disappear if she blinked.

"Boyd...Boyd..." She breathed into his neck, her arms tightening around him.

He couldn't help but to hold on, stroking her back soothingly and crooning soft sounds into her hair. Her perfume, her warmth, the solidity of her body in his embrace almost overwhelmed him.

She was here. And she was safe.

"You okay?" he asked nonetheless.

Grace nodded, her grip tightening, though.

"I was worried."

"So was I."

He pulled back, needing to assure again that she was really there. Grace smiled, not the bright open smile he knew, but a warm intimate one. Reassuring. They leaned in at the same time, their kiss necessary and wanted.

"As much as I hate to interrupt this romantic little reunion," Marlena's screech interrupted their tender moment, "but where is Miles?"

* * *

 

A second search of the house yielded no results. Even though they tried every door, every nook, every cranny and forced the personnel to help along with the search, Sir Miles didn't show up again. There was, of course, a good chance that there were more of those hollows in the floor and hidden places all around the house.

But even Sparks, the butler, after having them shown quite a few of those secret places seemed to be at a loss.

The situation frustrated Boyd, something that Grace, whose hand he'd been holding ever since they got up from the floor in the study, felt keenly. It was only a matter of time before all the upheaval and frustration of the last two days caught up with Boyd and they'd have a mighty explosion on their hands.

Analysing the entire weekend so far, Grace was certain that her earlier idea had been correct. They were caught in a game, a play, and they were expected to perform. Everything about this evening was about control - but whose on whom, she wouldn't be comfortable to say out loud.

Still...

She tried to keep up with his stalking steps, but finally gave up and stopped.

Halted in his steps so suddenly, Boyd turned, ready to yell, but stopped himself when he saw Grace shaking her head. Instead, mindful of the cameras that were positioned in this hallway as well, he closed the distance and pulled her into his arms.

They kissed briefly - having to keep up the pretence could be such a wonderful thing - and kept their embrace up for all to see.

"We're not going to find anything," Grace whispered.

"You think Rockton is...?"

"Going to be returned unharmed and unchanged."

Boyd stiffened, but didn't change his position. "Another set-up."

"Let's wait for a call from the kidnappers, but at this point, I'd say yes."

"Is he still on the estate?" he asked quietly as he pulled back to look her in the eyes. They could do so much better this night, the image of the huge bed not entirely gone from his mind, and yet here they were standing in the middle of a hallway on the estate of some idiot and trying to investigate a case that was by all accounts not even a case.

Grace didn't answer. Becoming aware of it, Boyd looked at her questioningly, only to find her smiling cheekily.

"What?" he asked, feeling a grin spreading over his face.

"Yes."

"Yes what?" Her answer confused him. It didn't connect to the line of thought in his mind. What was she agreeing to?

Instead of an answer, Grace's grin turned into a light chuckle.

"What do you mean?" he asked exasperatedly.

"Oh Boyd," was her only reply as her grin widened.

"Will you tell me what the hell you mean?"

"I meant," she leaned in again, pulling him back into their embrace and just ever so slightly rubbing her body against his - just so that he knew it was intentional - and whispered, "that I am fairly certain that our esteemed host is still on the estate. I don't think it was a real kidnapping, just another move in the game."

He didn't answer right away, as the fight between the hyper-aware man and the analysing detective in his body took up most of his concentration, but then shook his head. Her smirk proved that Grace was aware of the fact.

In retaliation, he let his hands wander from her back down to her behind and pulled her close with a little extra force. It satisfied him to hear her gasp and see her eyes widen in shock. The moment of triumph didn't last, however, as their extreme physical closeness showed its very physical effect on him as well.

Grace smirked just as much as she found heat rising into her cheeks and...other body parts.

They stood like that, their eyes locked and their bodies embraced tightly, willing the other to look away first in a childish game of keeping face.

Almost naturally, it was Boyd who gave up first and looked away. Both inwardly and outwardly, he shook his head. The way Grace was getting under his skin, and with this advantage playing him like a fiddle, was disconcerting to say the least. The way they were going, there was no point left to turn. He had no chance of escape any more and they both knew that.

"What do we do?" he asked quietly, pushing the thought of the inevitability of their personal future aside.

Grace shrugged, quickly all business again herself. There was no hint as to which thoughts she was pushing aside at the moment.

"I can't do nothing."

"At this point, I think it's what you're going to have to, Boyd. We'll have to wait for the next key word in this play."

He pulled back, reluctantly, and kept their hands entwined. "I don't bloody like it."

Grace chuckled quietly. "Anything else would have been a surprise."

* * *

 

The party retired back to the lounge, all fairly quiet and a little frustrated by the evening's events. Drinks were passed around and quietly accepted, as nobody spoke much.

A little earlier, Arthur had tried to make conversation, but his screechy complaints had quickly been silenced by the other guests.

Still, the accusations, however quickly they had been stopped, had gotten to Boyd. He didn't deal well with failure, and thus pulled back to a window from where he stared broodingly out into the night. Grace kept eyeing him continuously, wishing she could go and offer him solace and assurance, but in this mood of his, there was little she could do.

Tired to the bone and yet too keyed up to sleep properly, she stared into her drink and waited for the next step to happen.

It didn't take long.

The phone ringing shocked everybody in the room out of their stupor.

For a moment, nobody moved and just stared at the device. It was Ian who picked it up, his body tensing as he heard the voice on the other end.

As all guests crowded around him, Grace could feel Boyd's hand protectively on her back, the realization bringing a quick smile to her face. Turning for a moment, she winked at him, relieved to see the momentary flicker of connection between them.

The moment was short-lived, however, as Ian turned on the speaker on the oddly modern phone.

The entire group recoiled at the voice coming from the speaker.

" _Surprised, my dears?_ "

Grace swallowed, utterly shocked and yet not at all.

" _I have to say, I am disappointed with a few of you... And very impressed with a few others._ " The voice, sing-songy in sound, grated on Boyd's nerves even with the first words.

" _You really performed well in my little weekend play. A little amateurish at times, but since not even the professionals are up to par these days, one has to take what one can get, I suppose._ "

Even without looking at him, Grace knew that Boyd's temper was quickly reaching the boiling point. She wasn't much better off, but she could contain her anger... Boyd, on the other hand...

" _I have to say, I was most impressed with our new guests, our Boyd and his lovely lady. You two were really a constant source of fascination to me. So many hidden layers..._ " The voice made a pause to sigh in theatrical delight. " _It's really too bad you didn't make use of all the opportunities I've given you._ "

While their caller made a pause to obviously follow up on his imagined opportunities for Boyd and his lovely lady, the atmosphere in the lounge could have been cut with a knife.

" _However..._ " Their caller picked up his speech again. "I _t's a little late now and I need my beauty sleep. I'm also sure that some of you will benefit from it too. So, I suggest you all head to bed and I see you all some time tomorrow. Ta, ta..._ "

A click showed the end of the telephone call, leaving its receivers stunned.

"That's it?" Evan asked dazedly as he slumped onto a settee. "That is all?"

Nobody answered.

What was there to say?

A movement behind her caught Grace's attention and before she had even fully registered it, she cringed in anticipation of the door slamming that was quickly to follow. She knew that expression on Boyd's face. The shut down, leaving his features a flat slab of concrete that nobody could understand. He was angry, she understood that, felt the anger herself, but he felt also manipulated. She knew the feeling, knew how he reacted to such a situation.

Reaching out, she tried to lay a calming hand on his arm, hoping that it would soothe him just like it had before during this weekend.

Her hand encountered thin air as the man was already on the move.

Rushing after him, she didn't manage to catch up with him, not even at the front door of the large estate. Standing on the steps in the cold early morning fog, she yelled after him, but didn't receive a reply.

"Boyd!"


	12. Chapter 12

The gathering had a little bit of the revelation meetings from classic mystery movies, like Hercule Poirot or Miss Marple. The people assembled, however, now in contemporary clothes were too unenthusiastic to appreciate the similarities. Almost everybody in the room was eyeing their host with a larger or smaller degree of disdain.

The waves hadn't settled after the events from the previous night, a fact which Sir Miles took in with obvious surprise. He didn't really understand why his guests were glaring and glowering at him, especially since they had had such an exciting time or so _he_ thought.

But the breakfast table had been empty, lunch a very small and tense affair. Shaking his head, he sipped from his drink and kept eyeing the group.

* * *

 

Grace had taken a seat in a corner for a reason. She had no interest in the limelight this time, but she expected that she'd have little choice in the matter before the day was out. Boyd was next to the fireplace, the cloud of displeasure over his head so big that it darkened the room.

Their interactions of the day had been curt and tense, something that she found unsatisfactory.

She knew he was still upset and trying to work it out by himself, but her patience wasn't the best either and once, after they big shout-out, she had sworn to herself that she wouldn't accept being pushed aside like this any more.

Still, Boyd stood on the other side of the room and brooded and without making a spectacle of herself, it had to be that way for the time being.

* * *

 

From his place by the fireplace, Boyd had a good look at every other person in the room, could gauge their mood and disposition. It wasn't difficult to do, because all guests sported the same expression and the host kept to his usual behaviour.

There was only one person in the room who he couldn't measure. He was fully aware of the fact that Grace had chosen her spot in the room at least in part to be out of his immediate presence. Her face was in the half shadow of a drapery and he knew that she was using the position to analyse the people in the room. What he didn't know was what she was thinking, and as the case began to unravel, Boyd wished he could have sat next to Grace and shared his thoughts with her.

He knew she was upset by his behaviour last night; it had been a moment of old, and only halfway across the estate did he realize that he had left her alone house where she had been attacked a few hours ago.

If nothing else, the thought made him stop dead in his tracks and quickly retrace his steps.

_As he entered the house, it was quiet and dark, guests and staff alike having gone to bed. It was going on four in the morning and though he had pulled all-nighters before, it wouldn't make any sense to do so now. As quietly as possible, aware that the cameras would still record every step, he made his way to the suite he shared with Grace._

_Thankfully, she hadn't locked the door in a fit of anger, so he crept into the dark room and took a deep breath. Her perfume hung in the air lightly, giving it a familiar and comforting atmosphere, which calmed him more than he would have ever thought. For a split second, he thought that it would be good to come home to a place that smelled of her every day._

_Boyd suppressed the uncomfortably domestic notion and walked further into the room._

_The headpiece Grace had worn earlier lay on a side table, carelessly thrown there. Other than that, there was no obvious sign of Grace's presence in the room. It was silent as well._

_With careful steps, Boyd headed towards the sleeping area and found the corners of his mouth twitch upward at the sight that greeted him._

_She looked a little lost on the big bed, still dressed in her costume from the party, an afghan carelessly pulled half over her body. A wave of tenderness he'd never admit to washed over Boyd as he headed over to the bed. Standing next to it, he extended his hand, whether to wake her or just touch her lightly to assure himself of her safety, he couldn't say._

_He stood with his fingers just inches from her shoulder for a minute, maybe longer. Then, suddenly decisive, he quietly pulled off his shoes and put them neatly next to hers. It was stupid act, but nothing this weekend had made sense, so why not be this stupidly domestic?_

_Rounding the bed, he pulled off his jacket and vest, loosened a few buttons of his shirt and then climbed on. Crawling over, he gently spooned behind Grace, pulled her into his arms and rearranged the afghan to warm them both._

_Grace didn't wake up, a sure sign of her exhaustion after the night's events. Breathing her in deeply, it only took moments until Boyd was asleep himself._

Boyd turned around, willing Grace to look him in the eye. It was something he had avoided all morning, as his anger and embarrassment had returned full force with daylight. It had made for a tense morning with only a few stilted words. The time for kisses seemed to be over and Boyd regretted this. It had been, still was, a whole lot of very dangerous, and addictive, fun.

Taking the first step towards her corner, he was determined to clear the air between them. He could see her looking up, fixing her gaze on him, and he took that as a good sign, a crooked grin flitting over his face.

He didn't get far, however, as Sir Miles' voice penetrated their private world yet again.

"Goodness, this is supposed to be a party, not a funeral! You are beginning to bore me."

* * *

 

The rude words had at least one effect; the guests, enraged by their host's offensive manner, started to talk all at once, each giving voice to their displeasure.

But Sir Miles shouted the loudest. "Shut up! You are like chicken in a yard."

"I'll show you chicken!" Arthur crowed. "You're leading us on a merry chase for your amusement and then call us a bore? Bastard!"

"Now, now, Arthur, my dear," Sir Miles replied conciliatory. "I wouldn't be so rash in my accusations. You forget..."

"How could I?" the other man mumbled under his breath.

Amidst the melee, Boyd had managed to move into the corner next to Grace. Quietly, he held out his hand and was relieved when she took it and squeezed.

"Careful, Boyd," she whispered. "He wants to win this."

"Awww." It was no surprise that their quiet moment was interrupted by the host once more. "And there is our loving couple, yet again finding a cosy moment in between the mayhem. How do you do that? Amidst all the fact gathering and theorizing, how do you manage to still be so...intimate?"

Both Grace and Boyd stiffened, Boyd automatically moving slightly to position himself between Grace and the rest of the room. "What do you mean?" he asked cautiously.

Sir Miles grinned triumphantly. "I mean that you have still found plenty of moments of privacy even though you have both been constantly investigating me, my guests and my house all weekend. And I think..." He got up from his spot on the sofa and walked over, so that he was almost toe to toe with Boyd. "...That it is time you shared your results with us... Boyd, my friend."

"Why?" Boyd asked calmly, his reluctance shining through.

"Because you are my guest. Because it is my party. And because I wish it so." Rockton turned away and slowly walked over to the drinks cart. "And because I believe you prefer to put yourself on the spot to save your...lovely lady."

Only Grace's hand squeezing his even tighter kept Boyd from flying across the room and pummelling their host. The spot on his temple where he had been hit last night throbbed, more in pain born from anger than any real injury. Looking down, he caught Grace's eye, saw how she shook her head. "Go on," she mouthed.

With a slight nod, he gently released their hands and stepped further into the room, drawing himself up to full height and breadth. Behind him, Grace smirked at the instinctual gesture of power play. "What do you want to know?" Boyd asked with a challenge in his voice.

"Why don't you start at the beginning, the maid, maybe?" Sir Miles suggested politely, and settled comfortably on his sofa again. Turning to his other guests, he motioned them to be quiet, as if sitting in a theatre with the play about to start.

"There isn't much to say. The body on the cellar floor was not the kitchen maid, nor was it any other maid either. It was hoax. Theatre blood, fake body parts artfully draped, yes. But not a human body."

"What?" It was Annabelle's voice from a sofa on the other side of the room. Boyd didn't allow her to interrupt any further, while Sir Miles just sat there and smiled.

"When I checked the place two hours later, there was no more than a patch of receding moisture, no sign of even the theatre blood. Your staff cleaned that up rather diligently."

Sir Miles smiled and nodded. "Go on."

"There isn't much else to say," Boyd repeated. "The ambush last night was no more than a party gag. The bullet hole in the wall over there is a theatre prop. I'd wager,..." He paused and fixed the host with a hard stare, ",... that the hole was already there before last night."

"Really, now?" Sir Miles leaned forward, genuinely interested and at the same time condescending.

Boyd grinned sarcastically for a moment before turning serious again. "Indeed. You've taken your obsession with detail into this party gag. Even if dressed up in period clothes, a group of criminals would use modern tools to secure the greatest possible success. Knotting ropes in a way that they would loosen on first attempt is not successful." The sarcastic grin was back for a split second. "The ambush was a tacky party gag. Nothing more."

Reciting the facts made it easy to hold in his anger, as if he was presenting case facts to a jury. Boyd went through it with detached professionalism. It meant nothing. Since he had found Grace safe and sound, it meant even less than that.

It wasn't what made his blood boil; that was yet to come.

"That remains to be seen," Sir Miles replied with a conciliatory shrug. "But are you already finished?"

A quick smile crossed Boyd's face, but was quickly replaced with narrowed eyes and an even more intense broadening of his posture. "Not quite," he growled. "The cameras. Apart from the fact that your obsession with watching what other people do is a case for a psychologist..." At this point, Rockton's mouth twitched slightly, a fact that neither Boyd nor Grace missed. "...It is also bordering on illegal. But that's beside the point."

"Oh really?"

"Yes!" Boyd's answer sounded like a shot. "All of this - the dead maid, the ambush, the party, even the cameras - they all had only one goal. You!" Boyd stepped forward and towered over Rockton, looking as if he was ready to pounce. "You wanted to observe us." He gestured to himself and his colleague. "All that happened this weekend, all that was arranged this weekend, was only to see how Grace and I would react."

Leaning down, Boyd took hold of Rockton's shirt and pulled, not with any real intent, but showing that he'd be willing to become physical if necessary. He had only one question left.

"Why?"

While most of the other guests looked a bit uncomfortable and at the same time disbelieving, Sir Miles leaned deeper into the cushions of his sofa with a self-satisfied smirk on his face. It was exactly the expression that made Boyd wish he could just punch the living daylights out of that man.

"Very good, DSI Boyd. Very good, but not good enough." He paused for effect. "Hardly your normal type of work, I presume. Maybe that's why you've only come halfway with your conclusions? Or maybe you should have talked to the lovely Dr. Foley this morning, instead of giving her the cold shoulder?"

Turning slightly, he gave Grace an inviting leer. "Dr. Foley, would you continue?"

Thus put in the spotlight, Grace balked at the idea, her eyes narrowed as she appraised the room and their host. She saw Boyd's fist tighten and pull, and shook her head to stop him.

"It's a set up," she finally offered, with a definite air of the game having ended here. "The costume party, the invitation for this weekend. As Boyd said, you wanted us to be here, needed somebody new, us, to provide for your entertainment."

"We established that already, Doctor."

Grace didn't want to give Rockton the satisfaction of seeing her ire rise. It was still all about control and as long as she kept her own, he didn't win. "In order to do that you needed the help of somebody in the upper ranks of the Met, somebody who would order us to go and who we couldn't refuse. You built the trap and made us hunter and prey at the same time." She smiled briefly, though it lacked any humour. "Is that about it?"

"Your reputation is well-earned, Doctor." Sir Miles sounded sardonic in his compliments as he got up and began to circle the room with carefully measured steps that were not born from an inner need to move, but from the idea of performing. "You are very smart, Dr. Foley. But your theory lacks in boldness. A shame really, you should use it more. You do it so well in your...romantic...endeavours."

Boyd moved quickly, but a shake of Grace's head stopped him. "Say your piece, Rockton and be done with it, so we can leave this farce!" he snarled.

"Ah..." Grace shook her head, "...I don't know, Peter, maybe we should leave _before_ Sir Miles has explained it all. In this case I might prefer ignorance." There was a long pause, but then there was a slight smile beginning to form, combined with a unholy glimmer in her eyes as several facts began to finally fall into place. Boyd could see it from his point of view, was glad that it wasn't directed at him. Grace in bitch-mode was only fun from the sidelines.

"Or maybe we should stay. This weekend might yet bring the fun it has been lacking so far." She smirked.

Rockton began to pale slightly, but shook his head decisively. "You're not leaving before I'm done!"

"Alright then." Grace got up from her chair in the corner and slowly moved to the centre of the room. Taking Boyd's hand again, she gently pulled him down next to her on a sofa. She gave him a brilliant smile that did nothing to dispel his confusion at her reaction.

"Thank you."

Raising her hands, and Boyd's as well in the process, Grace shrugged. "You've been waiting for weeks to disclose this. Denying you this moment would take all your enjoyment out of this weekend, am I right?"

"Thank you."

Catching on, Boyd made a mollifying gesture. "We wouldn't want all your effort to be in vain."

Sir Miles scowled, the scene not going the way he had planned.

"So?" Boyd taunted him a little further.

"You're losing points, you know," Sir Miles began, but only earned himself a shrug in reply. "Very well, then. You are right, Dr. Foley, I did indeed contact the Metropolitan police. And yes, this weekend was mostly for your benefit. Or better, for mine. A case study, if you will."

The entire room was silent, all eyes and ears fixed on the host.

"You see, my publishing house plans on releasing a series of novels. Mysteries. Evan here is supposed to be helping with the writing, Sebastian and Ian are doing illustrations, and Arthur and Marlena involved in the PR. It is going to be series about a couple. A detective couple."

Boyd felt the bile begin to rise in his throat as a picture was beginning to form before his mind's eye.

"And just like Commissioner Hutchinson suggested, the couple will be modelled after you two."

Sir Miles prattled on, explaining how he had come to discuss his idea with the Commissioner, but neither Grace nor Boyd still heard a word of what he said. Their hands clenched together, they looked at each other, unwilling and unable to process what they had just heard.


	13. Finale

The door rattled on its hinges, making the occupants of the office cringe. The clearly female steps didn't improve the situation in Spencer's mind, because a pissed off Grace was somehow worse than an angry Boyd.

An angry Boyd took revenge; a pissed off Grace got even.

They both had been on the warpath since returning from the countryside, the teasing questions quickly dying in everybody's throat upon seeing their faces as they arrived on Monday morning.

There were tales of the Commissioner shaking after Grace had left after her 'conversation' with him around lunch the same day. Boyd would have normally shouted, but he was a subordinate and therefore had, surprisingly, held himself in check. Grace, apparently, didn't give a tinker's damn about rank or propriety, or even general niceties. She had stormed into the office, yelled at and threatened the Commissioner for at least twenty minutes, and then marched out again, slamming the door.

Spencer knew that Hutchinson had played a somewhat fishy part in the weekend's proceedings, but simply being screwed over professionally wouldn't have caused such a reaction from Grace. There was also something deeply personal between Grace and Boyd that seemed to be causing a problem. Spencer wasn't normally the most perceptive of people, and quite frankly, where Grace and Boyd were concerned he didn't even want to know, but one could cut the air between them with a knife and _that_ he noticed.

Eve and Stella had their suspicions, just like Frankie and Mel had had, and this time...

Another door rattled, this time announcing Boyd's return from a lunch meeting with the Commissioner. Stella looked up from the file she was working on, grimaced and quickly looked down again.

"Grace!"

The shout didn't surprise anybody. Surprising was how quickly the profiler followed the summons.

* * *

 

"So?" Grace almost fell onto the sofa in Boyd's office and gave him an expectant look.

He leaned against his desk, rubbing his face in mental exhaustion.

"Hutchinson was trying to honey me over."

"Uhum." Grace's reply was non-committal. "Should I expect an invitation for tea?"

"Probably dinner." There was just a hint of jealousy in his voice, Boyd knew that, and quickly tamped it down. "He's seen pictures from this weekend. I'm sure he wants to make the most of how you dress up."

The room was silent. It lasted so long that he looked up after a while and met her gaze across the room. She seemed unaffected, if you ignored the unholy glint in her eyes and the beginnings of a smirk. "You could get some of those Premier Cru-bottles out of it, you know," he explained lamely.

Grace's expression hardened for a moment before the smirk was back in full force. "You think?"

"A few hundred quid won't put him back too much."

Leaning back on the sofa, Grace adopted a neutral tone. "He might get the wrong impression, if I go out with him and wear one of those evening dresses for which I stupidly splurged out on before the weekend," she explained with forced nonchalance.

Boyd turned away quickly as images formed before his mind's eye. It should be _him_ who saw her dressed up to the nines first. Despite it all, it had been their time, she had played his wife, and by rights he should see her first in and...out of it. Standing aside for the Commissioner was not part of the plan. Of course, there hadn't been a plan until now when he realized that the hazy images of future personal events included him and Grace. Not her going out with other men.

A timid knock interrupted his darkening thoughts, but he didn't feel better as Stella stuck her head in to tell Grace that the Commissioner wanted her on the phone. With an exaggerated gesture, Boyd allowed her to use his phone, his mood deteriorating with every word that was spoken.

"I'll let you know," she ended the call and turned to Boyd. "You were right. Dinner."

"Are you going to accept?" he returned with an edge to his voice.

She shrugged. She wasn't really keen on dining with the Commissioner. It felt a bit like selling herself out. Of course, it might be nothing; but it could give Hutchinson the impression that she'd be willing to compromise her principles if the price was right and her ego stroked enough. The suggested locale was doubtlessly impressive and pricey and if the circumstances were different...

The different circumstances would involve another man, she could be honest about it. That man, however, was momentarily frowning at her and his distant and grouchy behaviour of the last days made it unlikely he'd want to spend personal time with her. Why that was, she still hadn't figured out, and it hurt.

"Are you?" Boyd asked again, the long silence doing nothing for his nerves.

Grace shrugged. "Do you think I should?" she asked, in a way hoping he'd say 'no' on principle.

He looked at her for a moment, several emotions playing over his face at once. Then his expression closed off and she knew that it was a lost cause.

"I have no say in this. We aren't married."

"No," came her flat reply as she struggled up from the sofa and made for the door. "Of course not."

It was the same thing, the same mood, the same behaviour that had stood between them since Sunday morning. The wall was back up, higher and thicker than it had been before. Boyd didn't look at her, didn't smile, didn't joke, didn't touch...and generally treated her as if she didn't exist on a personal level.

She should have known.

Without another word, she left the office, missing the almost agonised expression on Boyd's face.

* * *

 

The taxi stopped gently on the side of the road. Without even opening her eyes, the woman riding in it leaned forward to hand over the money and made ready to get out of the car.

"Madam?" The driver was a little worried and glanced over into the small front lawn of the house. "You sure you're going to be alright?"

The house was in a nice enough area, but there was movement in the shadows by the front door and all dressed up, the lady didn't exactly look like she could take on a burglar, or worse. From his position, the driver could see it was a man in the shadows and you never really knew.

"Should I call the police?"

Grace started. "Why?"

Nodding towards the man by the door, the driver said, "There's some bum sitting on your doorstep. Shall I call the police?"

She looked over into the shadows, then slowly shook her head. Somehow, she wasn't surprised. "No. It'd be no use. He's one of them," she replied tiredly and gave the driver an assuring smile.

"You sure?"

"Yeah. Thanks, though."

With a last worried glance, the driver nodded and then went on his way, leaving Grace on the pavement to consider whether she shouldn't have gotten back into the taxi and found another place to sleep. If he was here, it wouldn't be a silent stand-off as it had been the last four days, and she was too tired for another confrontation. Last Saturday seemed so far away, all their easy banter and arousing kisses a thing of the distant past. Yet a part of her was elated to find him here and that part made Grace step forward.

"You shouldn't be loitering outside my door. People could call the police, thinking you are here to attack me."

"I would never..." Boyd bristled, but stopped before he could finish the sentence. "They should find something better to do," he finally went on.

"So they should," she agreed, but then fell silent. What was she supposed to say? "Erm...why are you sitting outside?"

He smiled for a brief moment. "The neighbours wouldn't find it odd that there's light in your house when you are out?"

"Uhm...yeah. Right."

"I thought I'd better not wait in the car in case I fell asleep and...miss you coming home." Even to his ears, his words sounded inane. But if he kept talking, Grace couldn't send him away,... could she?

Grace gave him a long look; her mouth opened as if she wanted to say something, but she swallowed her instinctive reaction. "It's getting a little cold, though..." he offered, deliberately leaving the sentence open.

Grace narrowed her eyes, knowing what he wanted, but wasn't sure if she wanted it as well. Another minute or so later, during which Boyd almost felt the seconds tick by, she finally nodded and made for the door.

Inside the house it was invitingly warm. Grace made straight for the living room and almost immediately for the small assortment of bottles. "You want a drink to warm up?"

"Yeah. Tea would be nice."

"Tea?"

He shrugged, then shrugged again and grinned what he thought was charmingly. "Scotch, please."

She raised an eyebrow but nodded and turned around to pour, grateful for this moment of privacy. The situation was awkward, they barely knew what to say to each other. For the umpteenth time, she wondered where it had gone so wrong. They had been in complete agreement after Sir Miles' absurd suggestion, hadn't fought over anything, and yet they couldn't even talk to each other any more. Still, Boyd was here and even if she wanted to ignore it, she could feel his eyes on her every move and that alone caused butterflies in her stomach.

Handing him the glass, she tried avoid touching him, but Boyd took her hand in his as he accepted it. The tingle rushed up her arm instantly, heating up her body and flooding her with want. Feeling herself drown in the moment, Grace quickly stepped back, but the room seemed too warm and she took off her coat, carelessly throwing it onto the sofa.

Boyd, who was watching her every move with the same heat rushing through him, swallowed. Hard.

The black evening dress and jacket covered her demurely, but did nothing to hide her curves. He closed his eyes for a moment, willing the tantalizing image away. It was no use, he could feel the satiny warmth as if he were touching her. If the evening had gone the way he had wanted, he'd know how the material mixed with her perfume, but it hadn't been his evening.

Something shot up in his gut, hot and acid. Dressed up like this, she had spent the evening with Hutchinson. Of course, Boyd had suggested himself that she go, even joked about how she could get a few bottles of Premier Cru out of it. After all, the Commissioner did have some major sucking up to do to placate one of his star profilers, especially since Grace had basically torn him apart over the Rockton-incident. The Met would be talking for years about the shouting orgy that had taken place in the Commissioner's office, leaving the man shaking in his boots and a pissed off Doctor Foley storming through the building, out for blood. Boyd felt a wave of pride rushing through him. He'd pay a year's salary to have a tape of the incident. The momentary good mood didn't last long, however.

If Hutchinson was in any way smart, he had chosen an upmarket restaurant to impress her and grovel, and to show her off. Boyd could understand that only too well. If he had been smart enough, Grace would have been his to show off tonight. But he hadn't, and now he wondered if the opportunity had passed him by completely.

"Nice evening?" he pressed out through clenched teeth.

She shrugged and sipped her own drink. "It was very much about making an impression."

Sitting down on the sofa, he leaned back and took a sip of his drink. It was an attempt to appear politely interested, hiding his burning curiosity. "And?"

Over the rim of her glass, Grace gave him a look that burned into his skin. In the dim light, her eyes glinted calculating and dangerous, an image that Boyd found strangely seductive. "Did he impress?" he asked again, with a slight edge to his voice.

"The wine did."

"Premier Cru, huh?"

"Yeah." With a shake of her head, she turned away and placed her glass back on the cart. Rubbing a hand over her neck, she heaved an audible sigh. She just wanted this day to end. No more awkward conversations, no more explanations, no more men who didn't say what they wanted to say.

Before she could finish the thought, Grace sensed him behind her, so close that she could feel his body heat burning through both of their clothes. "Did he...?" Boyd searched for the right word. "Did he make you uncomfortable?" Lame, really, but articulating himself was difficult, almost painful. Going out and clobbering Hutchinson would be so much easier.

"Uncomfortable?" Grace snorted the word before staring at Boyd in disbelief over her shoulder. She hadn't noticed he was that close. If she leaned just an inch back...

"My God, yes! Did he crowd you? Or come onto you too hard. Belittle you. Blackmail... Whatever..." Gesturing wildly, Boyd began to pace. "You know, that sort of thing!"

"Like you would?"

"Grace!" His shoulders fell as he heaved an exasperated sigh. "Yeah, like I would."

A flicker of amusement crossed her face. "No." She shook her head, the smile widening a little. "He was very polite."

"But?" His voice turned louder again. "Come on, Grace, what was it then?"

For a moment there was a tense silence in the room, both of them waiting for the other to break it.

It was Grace who gave up first. "It wasn't what I planned for this evening, alright? Not the dinner I wanted."

"What do you mean?" The question was inane, he knew, the answer obvious, if he was honest. Which he wasn't.

"I wanted to have dinner with you! Not with Hutchinson, smiling politely at his attempts to convince me that he isn't a manipulative bastard," Grace snarled, then turned away. "And now, go, please."

Rooted to the spot, Boyd gaped. "Why?"

Grace stared at him in disbelief. "Because I'm tired and want to go to bed."

"I mean why did you want to have dinner with me?"

In an eternal gesture of 'spare me', Grace moved over to the sofa, slumped down on it and buried her face in her hands.

Boyd was confused, something that frequently happened with him and women, but especially Grace. "Something I said?" he finally ventured.

On her part, Grace wasn't sure whether she wanted to slap him, throw him out or kiss him senseless. Considering Boyd's current behaviour, the kissing would probably make no change. Slapping wouldn't work either and she was too tired to try and throw him out. So, in a way, she was out of options.

With a groan, she got up again, suddenly feeling too confined sitting down and with the jacket still on. Starting to pace, she began to jerkily unbutton the material and threw it onto the sofa. It was childish behaviour, not at all what you expected from a woman her age, but she'd be damned if she catered to anybody's expectations any more tonight.

"Forget it, Boyd. Just get out, okay?" she said.

There was no answer. Instead she found herself confronted with a pair of eyes virtually burning into her skin. There was no mistaking the meaning of that look as his eyes raked up and down her body. Suddenly she felt naked, knew that in his mind she was.

"Boyd?" she whispered hoarsely, and took a tentative step towards him.

The next second, her breath rushed out of her as Boyd roughly hauled her into his arms, his face barely an inch from hers. "Did you take your jacket off in the restaurant?" he asked demandingly.

"What?" Shocked by the sudden assault and with her body going into overdrive at his sudden, very charged, proximity, Grace was confused.

"Did you take that jacket off in the restaurant?" Boyd growled again, his hands rushing and brushing over the smooth and warm material.

"Why?"

"I told you before, I'd have to beat up every idiot for ogling you. Or better, I'll kill everybody in that restaurant. Hutchinson first..." As he carefully nuzzled her cheek with his nose, a slow smile spread over his face. He loved this perfume on her, even though it did all sorts of things to drive him to distraction. Being so close, he could hear her breath hitch in her throat as she reacted to his ministrations and it made his grin just a little wider. "And where would we be then?" he added as an afterthought.

"You can't beat up everybody who sees me in an evening dress," she breathed, her body very consciously straining closer to his.

Pulling back a little, Boyd let his fingers run over her opposite shoulder, down the thin strap of the dress. Goosebumps rose in the wake of his touch, making her blush and him smile. "Then I hope to God you did not show this to anybody else."

She swallowed again, but the corners of her mouth twitched. "Hutchinson wasn't the company I had hoped for."

"Did you take it off?"

She didn't answer, a smile slowly spreading. "I'm having a bit of a déjà vu here. Are you going to kiss and grope me now?"

One of his hands brushed over the very exposed skin of her cleavage, while the other travelled down from the small of her back. "Are you going to slap me if I do?"

"Isn't it a little late for this kind of question?"

"I haven't kissed you yet."

"Which is an inexcusable oversight on your part and a shirking of your duty as my loving husband."

Boyd chuckled lightly, the acidic burn in his gut slowly disappearing. Leaning forward, he gently brushed his lips over hers. "I wouldn't want to be accused of neglecting my duty...wife."

"If it's such a chore..."

"Best chore of the entire last weekend. I..." His next sentence was cut short as Grace's hands, which had miraculously travelled underneath his jacket, were scraping over his exposed skin. The slight scratch of her nails on his skin made him jump, a moan escaping unbidden.

"Shit, Grace..."

"Language, Boyd," she scolded, the impish glint in her eyes betraying her.

His hands kept wandering, mapping out lines and curves and touching bare skin. The flush on her skin spread and deepened, her breathing becoming as uneven as his own. Their bodies were moving against each other, slowly and sensually, their movements becoming more intimate and less subtle by the second. "You're a dangerous woman, Grace. I shouldn't let you go out alone any more. You in a dress like that is _very_ dangerous."

"But imagine what we'd miss. I have a few more of these." Her voice was low and breathy and damn it, if he could still think straight.

"Everybody would know that those pictures from last weekend weren't faked. I couldn't keep my eyes and hands off you."

"And this would be a problem...why?"

"Because I told you, I'd have to beat up every man who ogles you. And that would be _every_ man. I'm serious. I'd be too busy with that, instead of doing my...marital...duties."

Grace smiled a little bashfully as she looked down for a moment. "Maybe we should find a place and an occasion, then, where I can wear this and..."

"Next weekend? You and me?" Boyd was surprised how calm he sounded, despite the nervousness rushing through him. It didn't take a genius to figure out what his proposal meant and if they did this...

Grace's response of a brilliant smile and a nod put an end to his nervousness. As their mouths met to seal the plan, their kisses quickly grew out of control.

But then, who was there to interrupt them this time?

* * *

 

A long time later, Grace suddenly pulled back to look at him and the moment she did, Boyd knew what was coming.

"Do you think we'll find another bed like that?"

Yes. Exactly that.

 

FIN!


End file.
